The Trial of Frodo Baggins
by Gentle Hobbit
Summary: COMPLETE - Frodo is crushed by the knowledge that he was unable to fulfill the Quest without Gollum's intervention. Now, in this Epilogue, Frodo is ready to return home.
1. The Pheriannath

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.  
Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.  
  
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The Trial  
"There they are! Look, up on the third wall!"  
  
Five children peered around the corner of the house, craning their necks so as to see high, high up to the top of the rampart above them. There were many such ramparts in the white city of Minas Tirith and the children of the City explored them as often as they could.  
  
"Which ones are they? Does anyone know all their names?"  
  
There was a slight consternation at that. No-one could claim to know all of the names.  
  
Felnor eagerly piped up. "I know that one of them is of the Guard. He knows Bergil."  
  
"Everyone knows that!" Manrim defiantly stuffed his hands in his pockets. "His name is Peregrin, though I do think Bergil calls him something else."  
  
"Pippin. He is called Pippin." A quiet youngster with an earnest face offered this information.  
  
"Which is the one to his left?" demanded Manrim.   
  
"There are two tall ones and two shorter ones," said Telgan confidently. "I saw them at the crowning."  
  
"Well, the one to his right is the same height. So, he must be Meriadoc," Manrim summarily stated. "And the short one to his left?"  
  
A silence fell. Meriadoc and Peregrin were a fairly familiar sight around the City, but the two Pheriannath who had arrived more recently were still mysterious, although legends were already growing.  
  
"So what are you lot up to?" A slightly older, self-assured voice suddenly cut through their frenzied whispering. The children turned around as one to see Bergil standing there amused.  
  
"The Periannath! They are up there. Look!"  
  
"What are their names, Bergil?"  
  
"The middle one is Peregrin, right, Bergil? And Meriadoc? He helped slay the Witch-King!"  
  
"Yes, they are Merry and Pippin." Bergil shaded his eyes from the lowering sun. "And the other one is Samwise the Brave. I've never met him though. I don't know him or the other one."  
  
"The other one is the Ringbearer," the quiet one whispered reverently. "He is the one who cast down the Dark Lord's Tower."  
  
"And destroyed the Mountain of Fire!" crowed Alnoth exultantly. "I wish I could see him! Why isn't he there?"  
  
No one had an answer to that. But the prevailing opinion among them was that if any single one of them were to meet any of the Pheriannath, especially the mysterious and powerful Ringbearer, then he would be a lucky fellow indeed.  
  
Gradually the children scattered, as the distant calls for supper reminded them of the time.  
  
The small child, the quiet one, stood there the longest. He continued to gaze up wistfully at the three halflings. Finally, he reluctantly turned and left.  
  
* * *  
  
Pippin shaded his eyes as he peered out over the walls of the city. The setting sun shone straight into his eyes, making him blink.  
  
"That is going to take a long time to clean up," Merry commented, beside him.  
  
"Just as long as they don't ask us to do it," Pippin said apprehensively. "I've been on my feet all day as it is. Let the men clean up the Pelennor Fields! At least they are tall enough to rise above the mud."  
  
"And you aren't?" Sam said, from his spot on the wall. "Beggin' your pardon, but you haven't any business being so tall yourself!"  
  
Pippin laughed. "What makes you so sure we're so tall? Maybe you and Frodo have shrunk!"  
  
Merry chuckled a little, but stopped when he saw Sam's face. "Come on, Sam, we're just teasing you. I would have thought that you'd be used to it by now."  
  
"Where is Frodo anyways," Pippin asked. "I thought he was going to join us for the sunset."  
  
Sam shook his head glumly. "He said he wasn't in the mood."  
  
"Not in the mood? Oh good heavens," said Pippin, exasperated. "He has been in a mood for the past week. A bit of fresh air and a fine sunset would take care of that."  
  
"I don't rightly know," said Sam slowly, "but he isn't up to doing much nowadays. He doesn't seem to want to see anything lately."  
  
"What is wrong, Sam?" Merry asked quietly. "I have hardly seen him since Aragorn's crowning. He's been keeping to himself quite a bit, hasn't he."  
  
Sam stared down at his hands, fingers entwined in knots. "Yes. And I figure he'd keep to hisself even more if I didn't drag him to the hall for a bite to eat every now and then."  
  
"Well, then," said Pippin, "we'll simply drag him out here. No getting out of it." He jumped down from the ledge behind the base of the rampart. "Come on. Cousin Frodo simply isn't going to hide away, if I have anything to say about it." He marched off energetically.  
  
Sam looked ruefully at Merry. "I don't think he will be allowed to have anything to say about it, if you ask me."  
  
The two hobbits left their perch on the wall and followed Pippin back up to their dwelling.  
  
* * *  
  
They tried. Oh they had certainly tried. But Frodo would not budge. Despite pleas from all three hobbits, he just said that he preferred to be on his own.  
  
They were unconvinced, but they finally gave up.  
  
"You're right, Sam," Merry said, once they had returned to the ramparts. He took out his pipe and lovingly lit it. He drew on the pipe and exhaled. "There is something wrong. To be honest, now that I think of it, there has been something funny about him since before the crowning. Do you think that Aragorn was able to truly heal him?"  
  
"I don't know," said Sam, distressed. "Sometimes I see him when he thinks I ain't looking at him. He looks so hopeless. The light has gone from his face."  
  
"But why," Pippin said, frowning. "I know he's been through a lot, more than the rest of us. But surely he knows that it's over now. He seemed all right when the two of you first woke up."  
  
Sam fidgeted for a moment. "Maybe Strider could heal him, his body that is, maybe he couldn't. But a lot more happened to Mr. Frodo than what Strider, I mean King Strider, could deal with, meanin' no disrespect.  
  
"And none is taken, Sam. But I know Frodo. He doesn't take things lightly. Once he gets something into his head, he's going to hang on to it, fair or foul, until he works it through."  
  
"The only thing is, he ain't working it through!"  
  
"So what, I ask you, are we going to do about it," Pippin asked. He too had taken out his pipe. The embers suddenly glowed in the gathering dusk.   
  
"Make him talk to us," Merry said decisively. "Corner him if necessary. The silly old fellow can't think that he can hide from us forever."  
  
"He can too," said Sam warningly. "Without a doubt."  
  
"Well, if he does," Pippin said, "and he won't talk to us, then who will he talk to?"  
To Be Continued 


	2. Solitude

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Shirebound: Thank you so much for your warm welcome. I have been thinking about joining for some time, and your words of encouragement did the trick. This is such a friendly community of writers here, and it's people like you who make it so.

LilyBaggins: You will have to wait a little longer to find out "who will be dragging Frodo out of his slump," although this chapter might give you a bit of a hint! But exactly *how* it will be done is yet to be revealed...

CStini: Thank you for your review. They are thinking hard, all three of them (plus an elf and a dwarf...)!

Teasel: Thank you too, for your kind words. I hope that you enjoy this chapter as well.

...and Lizmybit...you need wait no longer.... (and thank you too for your enthusiasm!)

  


Chapter 2: Solitude

  


A thin keening sound came to his ears. It wailed fitfully, dying away only to return. He shuddered, wishing that he could block his ears to the seeming anguish in the voice, but he knew that that would accomplish nothing. It was the wind, of course, which had been blowing all morning, and it wouldn't stop simply because it fretted him. High up in the Citadel, the wind often blew even though it might be a beautiful day. But today was overcast, and clouds scudded across the sky.

He was alone at last. Not many people idly walked along the high walls of Minas Tirith on such a day. Those who did usually were on their way to somewhere. But he, wrapped in an extra cloak, and his back wedged against a corner block of stone upon the wall, was settled and would go nowhere.

Nor did he have anywhere to go, if he had wished. Well, that was not strictly true, he thought to himself. There had been many invitations to meet people, tour the city, simply chat with those who were already familiar to him, but the clenching tightness in his belly at the very thought of it stopped him from accepting any of the offers. The worst of all was when there was an attempt to honour him, either in a formal event, or simply by the people of the City who, whenever they caught sight of him, would stop and desire to speak with him.

He felt shamed by his ingratitude, but even more he felt shamed by the mistaken fervour of the people who did not understand the truth--that he was guilty. He was guilty of the most heinous crime: betrayal of all the free peoples of Middle Earth.

A gust of wind shook him suddenly, whipping his dark curls against the side of his face. One strand lashed just at the corner of his eye and it stung. Frodo shook his head involuntarily, his eye watering. A slight sound came to him then, one that did not blend with the shrieking of the wind. It was a slight scrabbling sound, accompanied by excited whispers. With a sinking feeling, he resolutely stared out into the distance. Perhaps if he didn't look, then whomever it was would give up and leave him in solitude.

  


* * * 

  


"I saw them, I saw them! All three!" crowed Alnoth. "They were heading to the Guards' mess hall with the Dwarf and the Elf: Meriadoc, Peregrin, and Samwise."

Manrim and Telgan stopped dead and stared. "You didn't!" "When?" Their excited voices barely carried above the wind, but that didn't bother them.

"Just now! They are there now. I was really close, too!"

"Now? They are there now?" Manrim quickly looked up and down the street. "Let's have a look."

Telgan hesitated. "But children aren't allowed in that section..."

"Doesn't matter," Alnoth said defiantly. "We won't be seen. I know how to get there without any of the adults seeing. Follow me."

The three ran up the alleyway and scrambled over a low retaining wall. Unnoticed, but not far behind, the youngest of their group followed, slipping through gaps confidently and with familiarity of oft explored underways and throughways overlooked by the older inhabitants.

  


* * *

  


Gimli laughed. "That would be a good sight to see, friend Pippin here, covered in mud from head to toe. And such big toes!" He took a long pull on his mug of beer and set it down with a thunk. "I wonder, Legolas, if a hobbit could set himself free once his feet were mired in the mud."

"I wouldn't know," Legolas mused. "But I would imagine, with such a covering of hair, that mud would accumulate at such a great rate that it would be perilous indeed to allow them to venture out into the Fields."

Pippin laughed merrily, looking down at the elf's small feet. "Then I would simply holler for Legolas to run across the top of the mud and pull me out! I need fear for nothing with such help nearby!"

"Watch out, Pip," Merry said, shaking his head. "Those are rash words. They might just convince the Guard that it would be all right to send you out."

"Not a chance. I have enough to do when I am on duty. I would only be in the way out there. Besides," he added with a shudder, "that's nasty work." 

He got up and nonchalantly moved to the window. Suddenly, there was a crash outside and startled yelps quickly fading into the distance.

"Good heavens, what was that?" Merry got up and joined him, peering out into the gloom.

"Children," said Pippin with a grin. "I know them. They're friends of Bergil and they've been following us."

Sam, hitherto silent at his meal, also joined them. "It's too bad they won't come in and join us. I wouldn't mind meeting some of them, at that."

"Well, it isn't hard to find them, Sam. They'll find you first! I just hope they don't go bothering Frodo up on the wall."

"Is he up there now?" Legolas asked curiously. "I thought hobbits did not like heights."

"And on this day," Gimli added. "The wind will blow him over. You little folk are doughty, but it is unwise to go too far."

"Frodo doesn't mind heights as much as some," Merry said, "unlike Sam here," he added with a grin. The grin then faded. "But Frodo's changed. I wouldn't think he'd notice them now."

"What happened earlier," asked Legolas. "You began to tell us something about why he stays away from us all, but you did not finish."

"He's got some notion in his head about not belonging with us. He won't tell us exactly why, but he's refusing even to come to the mess hall for meals now." Pippin nudged Sam slightly. "Even Sam can't get him to join us anymore."

"We all went to his room this morning, determined to have it out with him," Merry added. "We weren't going to allow him to burrow away any longer. But it didn't do any good. I swear, he beats any hobbit for stubbornness."

"It isn't healthy," Sam said. "He just sits there and keeps whatever it is bottled up tight." He fell silent again, settling back into his gloom.

"Would not Lord Aragorn speak to him?" said Legolas. "He has great wisdom and could, perhaps, convince Frodo to talk of his troubles."

The others looked at him thoughtfully.

  


* * *

  


"You silly oaf! What did you go and drop him for!" Manrim demanded. The children had hastily retreated around the corner and were hidden from adult eyes.

"You would too if Peregrin saw you through the window!" Alnoth responded hotly. "Besides, he's heavy."

"So what. I'm older than you," Telgan said, resentfully."I should be. Next time, I'll lift you up, and I sure won't drop you!"

"Hey, Fellen, what are you doing here," hissed Manrim. "Did anyone see you coming?"

Fellen inched around the corner and shook his head.

"Doesn't matter," Telgan said. "No one ever sees him if he doesn't want them to. Right?"

The younger boy nodded earnestly. "Did you see them," he asked hopefully.

"We did!" Telgan danced a jig in triumph, only to stop when the others shushed him somewhat nervously. "Five of them together. The elf, the dwarf, and... the three Pheriannath!"

"I know where the fourth one is," Fellen ventured, almost reluctantly.

"You do?" The others rounded on him excitedly. "Good old Fellen. Where!"

"Not far from where we saw the others last night. Up on the wall."

"Marvellous! Come on then, let us go and see!" The boys scrambled to their feet and pushed Fellen on before them.

Moments later, they were crouching at the end of a wall by a narrow gateway. Fellen had shushed them worriedly as they had scrambled up a steep incline to reach the gate. More and more, he regretted telling them about the Ringbearer. They could see him plainly now, huddled in a cloak and looking out over the City. Something was wrong though, and Fellen now felt that they shouldn't be there, intruding on the Pheriannath's privacy.

"Why is he up there and not with the others," Alnoth whispered. "He looks pretty grim."

"Well," Fellen whispered back, with a sudden feeling of loyalty. "He is the Ringbearer. He's not like the others. Remember what he did to the Dark Lord!"

The other children shuddered half with remembered terror and half with the delight of seeing such a hero who was so far above normal folk that he could stride fearlessly into Mordor and do what no other dared to do. Somehow, they felt that such a being would not interact with others quite in the same way.

"He is the same height as us, I wager," said Manrim. "Although not you, Fellen. You're shorter." He paused, reflectively. "I wonder who would be taller, if we were to stand back to back."

"You certainly wouldn't," an annoyed voice came sharply from behind them. "Come! You shouldn't be here. Get down from there."

Startled, the children hastily scrambled back through the gate and down the incline. Beregond was standing there, arms folded, his face stern.

"I know that you want to see the halflings," he said more softly now, "but you mustn't bother them, unless you are invited. Especially that one." He nodded towards the wall above them. "Come, you are late for noon meal. Bergil has been wondering where you are."

Chastened, three of the youngsters followed him down the steps. However, pulled by an irresistible urge, Fellen slipped away at his first chance and returned to the wall. Choosing a slightly different spot, and crouching silently as a mouse, he watched the Ringbearer's face and wondered...

  
  


To be continued.

  



	3. Intrusion

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

  


Endymion: You may not have felt able to leave the review you wanted, but you were eloquent nonetheless. Thank you for your kind words and encouragement.

Shirebound: Exactly. Unfortunately, Frodo is too blinded by his feelings over what happened to be able to judge himself more accurately, or more kindly. And thank you – I hope that I may live up to the task...

Mariole: Thank you so much for your encouraging and thoughtful review. I actually had already intended for this chapter to introduce such a conversation, but for you to read the story so far and to care about how it is written is a great compliment. After reading your review, I reread the first two chapters and thought how I might improve them. Then I forged ahead with Chapter 3. I truly hope that it meets with your approval. I look forward to any other comments or suggestions that you might want to make.

Niphredil Of Doriath: Yes, it can be difficult for the one-time reader to pick that up. I first read LOTR when I was nine, and so many such understated details were lost on me. One of the joys of rereading the book as I gradually got older was to discover such nuances which deepened even further the meaning of the whole story.

Lizmybit, Claudia, Cstini, Kay, and Katakanadian (love your pen name!): Thank you for your reviews. Many reviewers have written that they enjoy the presence of the children. This has been an unexpected but welcome reaction, considering that the children are not meant to be a major part of the story, but rather a thread that runs through the weave, occasionally disappearing and reappearing. So while some upcoming chapters may not feature the children, they will return.

  


Chapter 3: Intrusion

  


The fields crawled with figures moving to and fro. Faint voices could be heard, when lulls in the wind allowed: helpers crying out to one another as they moved across the vast open space. Sometimes the voices called out in companionable complaint or encouragement and, at other times, a note of relief or dismay could be heard as some artifact treasured -- or dreaded as the bringer of evil news -- was unearthed.

Frodo watched all of this, unable to look away. The labour of those who cleared the fields below told of the terrible trials of the people who had risked all and nearly lost all in this great land. He had not known at the time, as he toiled through the lands of Mordor, of the terrible battle being waged on these fields before him. He was glad that he hadn't known, hadn't known the extent of the desperation and the anxious hopes that had been riding on his ability to fulfil the Quest--the hopes that had depended on the all-fateful outcome of his own deeds. If he had known, would he have acted differently? Would he have been able to withstand the power of the Ring?

His heart quailed at the possible answer. He couldn't know what the outcome would have been, but he feared the thought that it would very likely have made no difference. Shaking, he gathered the folds of his cloak more tightly around him and bowed his head against his bent knees.

  


* * *

Fellen hadn't stirred for some time now, and his legs were cramping. He didn't want to move, as he wasn't quite sure that, if he were to do so, he would be steady enough to not make a noise. For some time now, the Pheriannath had been sitting, head lowered and arms tightly wrapped around his knees. Every angle of his body, even the very rigid motionlessness, spoke of something terribly wrong. What it was that could affect the Ringbearer so was beyond Fellen's comprehension. What he could understand, however, was the overwhelming need to be alone. Unfortunately, the cramping in his legs had become painful and the need to move imperative.

As slowly as possible, he got to his feet but, at the last moment, unbalanced, he wobbled and hastily put out his hand against the wall.

The sudden movement caught the Ringbearer's attention, and Fellen froze in dismay. For what seemed like a long moment, he hovered there, caught, before he righted himself. What should he do? If he immediately left, he would look like he had been spying on him (which, in truth, he had been). But he didn't want the Ringbearer to simply dismiss him as a nuisance. A sudden desire to make the Pheriannath understand that Fellen could sense his mood and respect it overwhelmed him. 

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Fellen very slowly and casually (or so he hoped) hoisted himself up onto the wall. He too settled back against one of the blocks of stone that were paced along the wall at regular intervals. He was not even ten feet away now and directly facing the huddled figure, but perhaps he was not so close that he would be a bother .... 

  


* * * 

"Mr. Strider, sir," cried Sam, a little breathless. Scrambling up the steps after Aragorn's long strides left him winded. "Please wait a moment."

Aragorn turned on the topmost step. The guards behind him looked slightly shocked, but amused, to see their king addressed in such a familiar manner.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I did not see you. Indeed, I have not seen you for a week or more."

"Oh, well," Sam stammered, "you've been busy what with a kingdom and all."

"Perhaps. However, I don't wish to lose sight of the Fellowship altogether while you are here. What brings you to me now? How may I help you?"

"It's Mr. Frodo, sir. Can I talk to you?"

"Frodo? Is there something wrong?"

Sam dithered for a moment. "Could I talk to you first, private like?" He glanced uncomfortably at the guards.

Aragorn looked at him solemnly and then said, "Follow me."

  


* * * 

Frodo looked away, discomfited. The child was sitting quite close to him, but didn't seem to want to talk. The demands of courtesy insisted that he speak to the child, but the fear that this would open the floodgates of unwelcome chatter kept him silent. He had always felt comfortable around children before, but then, he had always felt comfortable around people altogether. Now he couldn't bear to be near anyone, let alone this child who seemed to have been drawn to him. No doubt it was the legend of the Ringbearer that so drew him.

Poor child, thought Frodo. He must be disappointed. He looks at me and sees what? Some kind of awkward thing that does not have the courage to talk to him?

Fellen was looking at Frodo openly now. In actual fact, the Ringbearer's unwillingness to look at him had made him feel a little more comfortable. Nothing need be acknowledged. Nothing need be said.

Poor Pheriannath, he thought. "He looks so lonely. Does being a hero mean he can't talk to other people as normal folk do? Does being a hero mean you are always alone?

And then the Ringbearer looked at him. Their eyes met, and Fellen held his breath. If only he wouldn't take offence! The boy forced himself to relax, to look as if he were there simply because he wanted to be there, and not because of any reverence for a hero. But as the moment stretched longer, he soon forgot his nervousness, for looking into the Ringbearer's eyes was a curious thing: on one hand, they were guarded, as if to ward off something that might bring harm, but on the other, they were gentle. He felt that he could know Frodo just by looking into the warm depths of those eyes. But then the moment passed. There was the slightest of nods before Frodo looked away once again.

Disappointed but slightly comforted, Fellen too looked away. It was all right. Nothing need be said. The Ringbearer was still unhappy, but he had accepted Fellen's presence. That was enough.

  


* * * 

Sam scrambled up the steep incline and arrived at the wall, slightly winded. Minas Tirith was surely a grand city and all that, he thought to himself, but the ever-lasting stairs, slopes and ramparts were a challenge for any hobbit still trying to put some meat on his bones.

"Mr. Frodo," he called. "Are you still here?"

Then he spotted him. As he trotted over, a small child suddenly detached itself from a niche in the wall and ran off. Curious, Sam looked back at the retreating figure for a moment before he turned to Frodo.

"Here you are, Master. Still here, and frozen solid, I wager. This is not a day to be up on this chilly ledge, even though it be spring and all."

"I'm all right, Sam," Frodo said softly. "I don't feel the cold."

"You don't notice the cold, rather. Here. Here's another cloak. This will keep you warm enough."

"I already have two cloaks on. Thank you, but I don't need another."

"Now, just humour me, Mr. Frodo."

"I said, I don't need another," said Frodo sharply. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I just feel stifled with all this attention people insist on giving me. I just want some peace. That's all."

"Frankly, sir, I don't believe you. Why, you handled all the attention you were given quite nicely at Rivendell, and at Lothlorien. You didn't turn no-one away then." Sam sat down on the wall, keeping half an eye warily on the drop below. He swallowed compulsively and inched a little closer to Frodo.

"Go away, Sam. You can't help me."

"Don't be hard, Master. I'm not going nowhere."

"I want to be alone."

"I know you do. You've told me enough times already. But if you'll forgive me, sir, this time I won't leave and that's a fact."

"A fact?" Frodo at last looked at him. "There is nothing for you here, Sam. Only a stupid hobbit who cannot be trusted to see anything through."

"That's not true," responded Sam hotly. "Don't you say such things about yourself, Mr. Frodo!"

"Why not, when they are true."

"They're not true! What put such notions into your head?"

Frodo sighed and looked back out over the city. "You should know, Sam. You were there. You were there when I went back on my promise, my vow."

"Just you wait a moment there, Mr. Frodo," said Sam warily. "I don't hold with you saying such things. You never went back on any promise, no how.

"Didn't I? I am so sorry, Sam, but I can't bear to talk about this. Please leave me alone."

"No."

"No? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I won't go nowhere. Day by day, you've been sitting out here, broodin' on all manner of hurtful things, no doubt. We're all worried about you, all of us. You ain't doin' none of us, or yourself, any good, stuck out here with your face lookin' all pinched and drawn. I simply won't budge. From now on, where you go, I go. Wherever you are, there I am. You're not gettin' rid of me, and that's the end of the matter. Sir.

"As I've said once before, of all the confounded nuisances, you are the worst, Sam."

"I seem to remember, sir, the last time you said that, you were happy to have me with you."

Frodo looked at him, startled, and then, with a sound between a choke and a sob, threw his arms around Sam and buried his head against Sam's shoulder.

"Here, now," said Sam a little awkwardly (although secretly relieved). He patted Frodo a little on the back. "Then there'll be no more talk of stayin' lonesome like?

"Oh, Sam," whispered Frodo. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, then. I do. Come back with me, Mr. Frodo. You can't stay out here for the rest of your life with your belly tyin' itself in knots."

Frodo raised his head from Sam's shoulder. "How did you know?" He gave a slight hysterical laugh.

"Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face, beggin' your pardon, sir. No wonder you can't eat anything."

Frodo shuddered, and then buried his face once more against Sam. Slowly, Sam put his arms around Frodo and held him.

At last, he said, "Come on, come back with me."

They got up together, with Sam's arms still tenderly around his Master.

"Where are we going?" Frodo said, half wondering, half fearful.

"I'm takin' you to the Houses of Healing. Someone is waiting for you there."

  


To be continued


	4. A Desperate Plea

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

  


Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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Shirebound: Thank you very much for your comment about my writing of Sam. One of the challenges of writing fanfiction, of course, is that you are writing for an audience which already knows the characters extremely well. This can be quite difficult. Character integrity is essential. As *you* very well know! You have such a deft touch with them in your stories...

CStini: Thanks! I'll try... I'll try...!

Endymion: Quite true! In book canon (which *is* what I follow), Frodo can never truly be healed. However, there is a goal towards which they are moving – an attainable goal supported by book-canon... As for Fellen, there will be more interaction. I just felt that for that chapter, that minimal exchange was what was needed for what will come later. I must regretfully say that in *this* chapter, however, the children do not appear at all. Given the nature of the story at this point, it wouldn't seem right.

Kay: I am very glad you liked that moment of understanding and misunderstanding between Fellen and Frodo. In fact, that pivotal moment was what much of the chapter was written around.

Krista and Lizmybit: Thank you too. As I said to Shirebound, it is a challenge to successfully display an established character's personality and "voice". If you feel that I have done that, then you have paid me a great compliment. And there are a couple of "new" characters in this chapter who hopefully speak with voices true to their own personalities...

????: Dear old Sam, what would Frodo do without him. As for the chapter titles, sometimes these details are much harder than writing the story! What to call it, what to call it... I'm glad you liked it.

MBradford: Another fic? Oh dear, haven't thought that far ahead yet... But thank you for your encouragement!

Please note that the rating for this story has gone up to PG.

  
  
  


Chapter 4: A Desperate Plea

  


They walked into the Houses of Healing side by side. Sam's arm was around Frodo, gently encouraging him forward. 

It was into an inner courtyard they came. Although the courtyard was surrounded by the Houses, it was open to the sky. The wind did not easily reach here, though, and the sound was muted, hushed. As Sam guided Frodo to one of the curved stone benches that rimmed a still pond, encircling trees shimmered with their new green leaves.

"Now, just you wait here a moment, Master. I won't be long at all."

Frodo nodded mutely. He watched Sam leave. With the faintest of sounds, the trees shivered once more from a stray breeze that had made its way down amongst them.

The pond was clear and rimmed with rounded stones twice the size of Frodo's hand. Despite reflecting the grey clouds from far above, it was restful to his eyes, and Frodo gazed at it for a moment. He could see, revealed at the edge of its mirror-like surface, the lancet windows of the upper walls. 

Who stayed in those Houses, he wondered. Men from the battle of the Pelennor Fields, surely. Men who were dying, or in pain. Men who had been fighting to stave off despair, who would have lost all hope if the Ring hadn't gone into the Fire – if Gollum hadn't taken It with him into the flames.

Frodo whimpered then, a strangled sound. Immediately, ashamed of making such a noise, he pressed his hand against his mouth. Only to involuntarily snatch it away again when the pressure pained the scarred gap where once his finger had been. 

He looked at his hand despairingly. Why had Sam brought him here? He shouldn't be here, among such brave and honourable folk. His very failure was branded upon his hand as if some awful judgement had been handed down to him at the moment of his evil deed. He toyed with the idea of leaving but quickly let go of it. He could not do that to Sam, dear Sam, who had so gently brought him here.

  


* * * 

  


True to his word, Sam was not long at all, for Aragorn was with the Warden. When Sam came, Aragorn rose at once and the Warden with him.

"The perian is here?" the Warden asked. He moved towards the door. Aragorn swiftly moved also and bowed in entreaty.

"I ask your leave," Aragorn said, "for I desire to speak with the Ringbearer alone. We do not know yet if he will accept such care as we may wish to give him."

"I will wait," the Warden responded. "When you give me word, my lord, I will come."

Once they were outside, Sam turned to Aragorn. "Thank you, sir. The way he is now, I figure he'd bolt if it was anyone but you."

"I know, Sam," said Aragorn softly. "You know your master well, and we will need your knowledge."

They soon came to the courtyard to find Frodo sitting in the same spot where Sam had left him. He looked up somewhat warily as he heard them approach and his eyes widened when he saw who had come. 

"Sam!" he cried in dismay. He sprang to his feet.

Sam ran to him. "Now, don't you worry, Mr. Frodo..."

"He has better things to do than to attend to such foolish nonsense!"

Aragorn held up his hand to silence them. "Sam did well to bring me here, Frodo. When have you ever refused my help in the past?" 

To that Frodo had no answer and he sat back down slowly, reluctantly. Aragorn too sat down, facing him. Sam quietly stood behind his master, ready to give help if need be.

"Sam came to me, Frodo, with great concern for you. He fears that you are burdened still with the shadow of Mordor. Is this the truth?"

Frodo made no reply. He looked down, unwilling to meet Aragorn's gaze.

"Something troubles you greatly, and yet you will not talk of it, even when pressed. I care for you very much, Frodo, and it distresses me to see you in pain." He paused for a moment. "Wilt thou not talk to me?"

Frodo's head came up at that, and his face was wrung with guilt and self-loathing. "Forgive me, Aragorn, but I do not know how to speak to you of this. Is it not enough that I keep to myself? I cannot bear to think that I bring such worry and care to my friends."

"If you would not bring worry to those who know and love you, then I would say, nay, it is not enough. Speak, Frodo! Let those who know you judge whether or not they can bear to listen."

A ray of hope came then to Frodo's face. "Would you judge me?" he asked.

"I would judge you."

"Then judge me on this! Judge me on my crime that I have done in defiance of my vow."

Sam made a strangled noise. He moved as if to speak, but Aragorn once more put up his hand for silence. The hobbit unwillingly subsided but settled into his stance as if ready for battle.

"What crime is this that you speak of?"

Frodo blanched but spoke unwaveringly. "At the moment when I should have cast the Ring into the Fire, I chose instead to claim It for my own. I betrayed all who depended on me. I betrayed all the free peoples of these lands."

Shocked and dismayed, Aragorn was silent. After a moment, he spoke. "I cannot judge you on this, Ringbearer. Your fate is not in my hands, and were any of those who appointed you to your task asked to do the same, they would refuse."

Frodo leapt to his feet, his eyes brilliant with sudden tears. "You said that you would judge me. Judge me as you have judged those who have come before you these past few days. I have seen them come to the Citadel since your crowning. What about me? Is not the Shire part of your lands? Am I not subject to your rule?"

"Frodo, what you ask of me is something I have no right to carry out. Yes, the Shire is under my protection, but it has always been my desire to exempt it from all duty to Gondor. You are not ruled by me, and you were not appointed by me to that dreadful task."

"Then who may I turn to?" Frodo's voice was low and trembling. His hands were clenched at his sides. "You asked me if I would not talk to you. I would! But you are my King, whether you will it or not. I do not ask to be exempt from your law! If you refuse me, where else may I turn?"

So intent were they on each others' words that Sam, unnoticed, slipped around between them with his back to Aragorn. He grasped Frodo's wrists and shook them sharply in his fright.

"Master," he said. "What are you sayin'? What can you be thinkin'!"

Frodo, almost unaware, tried to free himself from the unexpected assault. "Judge me!" he cried.

"Stop it, Master! Don't you do this to yourself!"

Frodo struggled wildly. "Let me go, Sam!" He tried to pull away but Sam hung on like grim death. Frodo's voice rose in anguish. "You must judge me! I beg you. Do not turn me away!" 

The commotion brought two running to the courtyard. The warden and Lady Eowyn started forward in consternation

"Stay back, I beg of you," Aragorn cried. He turned back to Frodo, still struggling in Sam's firm grasp.

"Don't let them near me," Frodo gasped. "I cannot stay here with such noble people. Let me go!"

His struggling became a frenzy, and Sam was hard put to it to not let go. Fearing new hurt for Sam, Aragorn seized Frodo and held him close. But Frodo had worked himself into such a state that he could not react to the change. The struggling grew wilder.

"Please," he cried once again. "Do not condemn me to a prison of soft care and blind forgiveness. I beg you. Do not spare me from your law!"

"Peace, Frodo!" Aragorn shouted. He held Frodo's arms behind the hobbit's back in an attempt to force him to calm. "I will do as you ask."

Frodo's struggling ceased. "You will do this for me?" he asked, panting.

"I will although my heart bids me to refuse."

Frodo lowered his head in relief. Suddenly, however, he realized the position he was in: he was standing restrained by Aragorn. He raised his head and saw Eowyn and the Warden and he averted his eyes in shame. In a sudden desire to flee, he pulled hard against his captor.

"No, Mr. Frodo!" pleaded Sam. "Don't you hurt yourself. You don't know what you're doin'. Let Strider keep you for a moment. Just for a moment."

Frodo stared at Sam, his eyes wide and his body rigid. Aragorn pulled him close and knelt down to the earth, and Frodo's legs buckled as he too was brought downward. 

"Hush, Frodo," Aragorn said. He held him firm in his arms. "Your will shall be done. Do not, then, fight against me."

Frodo wept then, as all will to resist fled. For a long while, he lay there on the ground. Aragorn held him and waited for the storm to pass.

  


* * * 

  


Very slowly, as the sounds of anguish ceased, Aragorn stirred. When it seemed that Frodo was ready, he helped him to his feet. Sam hovered nearby, ready to put out a hand in aid, but there was no need. Aragorn still held Frodo fast. He had reached around Frodo's shoulders to hold his arms, this time in aid, not in restraint. The hobbit leaned on him slightly as Aragorn helped him back to the bench. 

"Sam," Aragorn murmured.

Sam nodded, and sat down behind Frodo: a solid, comforting presence at his back.

"Frodo, I give you my word that I will do as you ask. But if I am to do this deed, then, until it is done and I say otherwise, you must obey me; even though you may be loth to accept any command that I may give you. Do you so accept?"

There was a long silence. 

"I so accept," Frodo said at last in a soft voice. "I will obey your every command."

"Then, Frodo, son of Drogo, I command you these three things: one, that you enter into these Houses of Healing and accept whatever care may be given to you; two, that you do not leave the boundaries of the Houses without permission of myself or the Warden; and three, that you may only speak to others who have been allowed to pass through the doors."

Sam started when he heard these words. "But surely you don't mean to cut Mr. Frodo off from the rest of us? What he needs is all of us, Mr. Merry, Master Pippin,..."

"What Frodo must understand," said Aragorn sternly, "is that he has given himself over to the hands and the will of the Healers." His voice softened. "Do not be dismayed, Samwise. I would not prevent him from seeing any of you at all. But you also must abide by those restrictions."

Sam settled back, slightly abashed, but then got up hastily as he saw Aragorn rise. Frodo, too, slowly stood. 

"Warden, " Aragorn said, and the healer came forward. "I give into your care the halfling, Frodo. You have heard the three commands that I have laid upon him. He will obey you as he must obey me."

The Warden bowed slightly. "I take the perian, Frodo, into my charge from this moment forth, until you release him, my lord."

  
  


To be continued 


	5. Interlude

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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Shirebound: How did I come up with this idea? Well, actually, I have occasionally had insomnia, and so I often imagine scenarios during that time after I've gone to bed and before I get to sleep. The aim is to distract myself from "not getting to sleep" but unfortunately sometimes I become quite involved with what I'm thinking up. It may not help much with the insomnia, but I certainly have fun with it in the meantime. 

There is one note I'd like to make, though. I thought up two versions of this story, one with a slightly more 20th century style trial, and then the one which I will be using here. As Middle Earth is (loosely) based on a medieval European world, where the King's justice was the ultimate judgement (with no need for "jury by peers", etc.) the story will unfold with that in mind... 

Ancalime: You're quite right, Frodo doesn't need any *specific* physical healing (other than perhaps shaking off the last residual effects of the Quest) as presumably Aragorn already had his needs attended to during the 14 day "sleep" in Ithilien. But then, mental/spiritual anguish was addressed during the healing of Eowyn, Faramir and Merry. I feel that those who serve at the Houses of Healing would be concerned with both (or at the very least, be willing to help if Aragorn decides it's necessary...)

Kay (and Ancalime): Yes, I certainly don't envy Aragorn at this point either...!

endymion: Yes, I too love the older style of speech. I was shocked to read in your review that the new versions have had the language changed and "modernized". Really??! Oh dear.... As for "PG", well, Fanfiction.net uses a rating system based on how much violence, presence of sexual themes, etc. are present in a story. There is no violence or sex in this story (unless you can count as violence last chapter's Frodo struggling to get out of Sam's grip), but it can and will be intense in angsty emotion from time to time. Therefore, I raised it from G to PG. PG means parental guidance. G means general. There are higher ratings (PG 13, and R, I believe)

Claudia: Thank you so much for your review. I was afraid that perhaps I had made Aragorn too stern, and perhaps by doing so tick off some Aragorn fans. However, I honestly feel that this *is* how he would behave, based on how he is depicted in the book. He is, above all, a man of honour, and therefore will behave accordingly in all his dealings with people. He will not simply "humour" Frodo, no matter how unwilling he may be to carry out Frodo's request.

Kit: Thank you! And your comment about Sam – so true!

Helga: Thank you for your review. Yes, I too think that Frodo would (normally) find something in common with those curious children. I also have thought before about your other comment, that Tolkien hinted at some measure (however subconscious) of pride – after all, look at who Frodo had as a role-model. Bilbo managed not only to actively bring about the successful conclusion of the adventure at the Lonely Mountain, but also through sheer audacity and sometimes blind luck, save himself and the dwarves many times over. On top of that, he comes home content and unscathed. I could only imagine Frodo (as a child) having set that up as his image of the ideal...

Aratlithiel: Thanks for the tip about the Letters of JRRT. I do, in fact, have the book, but have only got about 1/3 the way through. I will take a look. As I already have most of the arguments and counter-arguments planned, it will be interesting for me to see if I have already picked up on some points which Tolkien makes...

Thank you to every one else who also left reviews: LilyBaggins, MBradford, Mariol, aelgifu, lizmybit, hmsgirl, ???? and Katakanadian. Each one has been read and treasured. Thank you.

  
  


CHAPTER NOTE: In the last scene of this chapter, there is one element which is similar to that used in the story "Aftermath" by Willow wode. How much that story influenced the presence of the idea in this scene, I do not know; nevertheless, I highly recommend "Aftermath" to anyone who may be interested. Willow wode is a wonderful writer, so please have a look at the story, and others, which are on Fanfiction.net. I have used the idea quite differently here; however, I haven't identified it as that would have given spoilers to both this chapter and to "Aftermath." It would really be much better for you to go and read "Aftermath" for yourself. (Oh, and while you are there, also read "October Reckoning"... and "Caliban"... and... : ) )

  
  


Chapter 5: Interlude

  
  


They brought him to a small room which overlooked the Garden. 

"You may rest here, whenever you so desire," the Warden told him. "As you are not ill in body, you are free to wander about the Houses and in the Garden as you like, but you must remember the Lord Aragorn's commands. You may not leave unless accompanied by one appointed to guide you."

"I remember, and I thank you for your kindness," Frodo said. "I will not forget the commands." 

The Warden inclined his head and withdrew.

"Aragorn..." Frodo began.

"I am sorry, Frodo, but I too must go. I will be back on the morrow, when I will hear your plea."

"Of course. I am so sorry for causing you such trouble."

Aragorn looked at Frodo gravely. "As I told you before, you must let those who listen decide whether or not you are "trouble". I do not think so, yet I am troubled for you. Do you still wish to be judged?"

"Yes!"

"Then rest, today. I will leave word that any of the Fellowship may visit you. Tomorrow, we shall see."

Frodo bowed his head. "Thank you."

Aragorn left the room, leaving Frodo alone save for Sam who had listened without interruption. Frodo sat down shakily on the bed.

"Oh what have I done, Sam," he said. 

"Well, I don't rightly know, sir. You have gotten yourself into a fix and no mistake. How on earth you got that idea of having Mr. Strider treat you like any common thief into your head is beyond me." 

"No, no, Sam, that wasn't what I meant." He started to shiver. "I tried. I tried so hard, but I didn't do it. I didn't want to in the end, you see."

Sam felt a cold fear wash over him, and he knelt down by Frodo. "Please don't talk like that, Mr. Frodo," he said earnestly. "It just breaks my heart to see you carry on so. You tried your hardest. No one could try harder than that."

There was no answer and Sam looked up into his master's eyes. They were unfixed upon anything within the room, and Sam feared what they might be seeing instead. He took Frodo's hands between his own and then muttered in dismay. "So cold. He didn't ought ta' be out there so long. And what with Mr. Strider and all." He got to his feet. "Come on, Mr. Frodo. Up you get, and let me turn back these bedcovers. You need a proper rest."

Frodo got up as if already in a dream, and stood there while Sam made ready the pillows and blankets. Unprotesting, he let himself be helped into the bed and under the covers and, as soon as Sam had tucked the edge of the blanket snugly around him, he fell into a deep sleep. Sam looked down at him for a long moment and shook his head. Then he too left, softly shutting the door behind him.

  


* * *

  


Fellen half skipped, half ran down the steep cobbled paths. He felt like singing joyfully, but somehow it didn't feel quite proper in the City which still hovered between celebration and mourning. Never mind, he thought to himself, the Ringbearer had looked at him and had not turned him away. He hugged this knowledge to himself with glee as he made his headlong rush towards home.

Suddenly, he shot out from between two houses and plunged headlong into a knot of children. 

"Here he is!" Telgan shouted, and they grabbed him. Fellen realized that they had been watching for him, waiting by one of the alleyways frequented during their explorations. They gave him a little shake. "Where have you been?" "Tell us!"

Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep the grin off his face. He had managed to do what they had not, and they were older and bolder. But then a whisper of caution crept into his mind, and he sobered.

"Come on, Fellen, tell us! We know you went back after we had to leave. Is he still there? Did you talk to him?"

Fellen hesitated. If he told them, they might let him fully into their group. If he used his knowledge as currency to gain admiration, he might not have to be the tag-along ever again. But then he remembered those gentle yet troubled eyes that had so briefly looked at him. He stood there for a moment, surrounded by admiring and expectant faces.

"Sorry," he said finally. "Other people came. He's probably gone by now."

They released him then with groans of disappointment.

Fellen watched them scatter, all except for Felnor. "You've got to go back home," Felnor warned him. "Mother wasn't pleased when you didn't come back for dinner." He peered at Fellen closely. "Are you sure he isn't there anymore?"

Fellen shook his head, reluctant to turn his own older brother away. "No, I'm not, but I really don't think he's there."

"Well, tell me if you see him again, all right?" Felnor's voice took on a cajoling tone. "I'd give you that orc arrow-head I found if you told me first."

Fellen nodded, secretly dismayed at this new offer. How he had wanted that arrow head! Now, however, it failed to move him. His brother would be suspicious though, if he didn't show any enthusiasm whatsoever. Before he could betray his thoughts, he ran off.

  


* * *

  


"He what?" Merry shot up from the chair where he was sitting. Pippin tensed suddenly too, no less aghast.

"That's what I said, beggin' your pardon, sir," Sam said. He sighed and sat down opposite Pippin. "He's dead set on it, and even Mr. Strider couldn't get him to budge one bit."

Merry sat down again with a thud. He held his hands up helplessly and then dropped them. "This wasn't what I had in mind when we decided to talk to Aragorn."

Pippin laughed ruefully. "Trust Frodo to completely flummox us at every turn. It's what he's been doing ever since this whole crazy adventure started."

"And Aragorn has agreed? I mean, really agreed?" Merry looked at Sam hopefully. "Perhaps he was just humouring him."

Sam shook his head emphatically. "No. No, he wasn't, neither. You know how he is. He took everything Mr. Frodo said seriously."

"How could Frodo think up such a thing," Pippin asked. He paused for a moment and then looked at them doubtfully. "Do you think he's quite all right... you know..."

"If he isn't," responded Merry quickly, before Sam, half risen, could say anything, "then he jolly well has a good reason not to be." Sam subsided with a sharp look at Pippin. "But I don't think so." Merry paused for a moment and then said slowly, "I do think though, that he can't see past his own obsession. It's blinded him to everything else. Sam, I don't know exactly what happened at the end, and I haven't wanted to pry, but I'd be blind if I couldn't see that something awful did happen. You need only to look at his hand..."

Sam winced. 

"What happened, Sam," Merry asked softly. "I think that we need to know, to understand, if we really want to help him. I mean, he obviously had the thing on..."

Sam abruptly got up from his chair and walked to the fireplace. His face was lost in shadow as he stared down into the dark empty grate. "It's cold," he said, jerkily. "Can't nobody find a bit of wood to make a fire, cheery-like?"

"The City is on rations for now until we finish rebuilding..." Pippin said absently. He too stood and joined Sam, leaning against the mantle. He peered at Sam's face. "Sam, you didn't... I mean," he swallowed convulsively. "You didn't... cut..."

With a cry, Sam pushed himself away from the mantle. His back was to Pippin.

"I'm so sorry!" Pippin said. "Forgive me. Is that what happened then?"

"Don't press, Pip," Merry said urgently. "Let him come round on his own."

"I can't say as I blame you," Sam said. His voice was muffled, and hard to hear. "Drat it all. What was I thinkin', that maybe nobody wouldn't wonder at his hand. Hoping, really. But I can't tell you nohow. Not without Mr. Frodo's permission. Don't you understand?"

"We understand," said Merry reluctantly. "But you must understand, Sam, that we want to help him. And we can't help but think of all sorts of ghastly things that could have happened. That's also unfair to Frodo. And, what about you? You're the only one who knows, unless either of you have told someone else. We are worried about you too, even though sometimes it may not seem that way. Having to keep such a horrible thing to yourself... wouldn't it be a relief to be able to count on us?"

Sam turned to face him. "I suppose it would," he said with a sigh. "But that don't matter one whit, without Mr. Frodo's approval."

"Hang Frodo's approval," Pippin said, annoyed in spite of himself. "Think for yourself, Sam! I know you want to protect him, but we all set out together by sharing everything and helping each other. Even when he tried to keep things secret. We hobbits have stuck together, and will stick together despite Orcs, and even Gollum..."

Sam choked.

Pippin glanced uncertainly at Merry and then back. "Sam?"

Suddenly, understanding dawned in Merry's face. "Do you mean to say that Gollum had something to do with it?" he asked. 

"I don't mean to say nothing! Mr. Merry, sir," Sam said hastily. 

Merry looked at him intently but not without a measure of sympathy. "Sam, did Gollum cut the Ring from Frodo's hand?"

Agonized, Sam struggled in silence for a moment. He looked at Merry helplessly.

"He did, didn't he, Sam. We had heard that he was with you two. Frodo claimed the Ring. Gollum tried to get it back, didn't he."

"Curse him," Sam finally burst out. "I wanted to kill that Stinker. I was just too slow. Just too slow at that. That's Samwise Gamgee all over. Always makin' mistakes." 

"No," said Merry, decisively. "We can't have the two of you running around, blaming yourselves silly."

"That's right," added Pippin. "It's just as well you made a clean breast of it, Sam, old fellow. It was pretty horrible, and I feel awful for both you and Frodo, but you can't hang on to it forever. That's what Frodo's doing, and it's not doing him any good, you know.

"I know," Sam said, reluctantly. "That's what I keep tellin' meself." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But the worst thing is, sometimes I don't know if I am sorry or glad. If Stinker hadn't done it, there wasn't nobody else to do it, you know,... but me."

Merry shuddered. Wordlessly, he got up, went over and gripped Sam's shoulder for a moment. "Let's not talk about it anymore, then, if you don't want," and his voice was just a little rough. "We know enough to not make a mess of things. Anything else, and you tell us when you're ready. All right?"

"That's right," Pippin added, busying himself unnecessarily by pushing back chairs. Finally, he opened the door. " Let's go and have something to eat. They'll have a nice fire in the mess hall. Nice and cheery, just right for you, Sam. And then we'll go and see him. Won't we, Merry."

  
  


To be continued

  
  



	6. Fellowship

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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Helga and lizmybit: I hadn't heard that there was an early version with Sam falling into the Cracks of Mount Doom. Shudder. I am *so* glad that that wasn't kept for the final version!

endymion: Moi aussi, je ne regrette rien! Mais... Frodo is "Boss"?! Good heavens, what would Tolkien say to that?!

lizmybit (again): I'm glad you liked the orc arrow head bit. I have had fun remembering back to when I was a child, and trying to imagine what would have fascinated me at the time, while writing this story.

Kay (and Trust No One, re: Sam): You know, it's interesting to wonder exactly what was known by the rest of the Fellowship of what happened at the Cracks of Doom. Tolkien said that the events were known (I read this just yesterday in the Letters of JRRT while following up some leads kindly left by Aratlithiel), but in what detail?

Aratlithiel: Thank you so much for pointing my way to the particular letters (in the Letters of JRRT) that have some bearing on the subject of the story. I was somewhat dreading having to read through the (fairly) substantial book in order to find such references. And they are helpful: some in that they corroborate my arguments, and others in that they give me something new to consider.

A Elbereth: Thank you! As for why Frodo wants to be judged, well, his own sense of guilt is certainly a large factor. There may also be another hint of a reason given in this chapter (although it may not necessarily be true).

Thank you to all those who have also left reviews: hmsgirl, shirebound, aelfgifu, Mbradford and Bookworm2000. Your words are kind and very encouraging! Although I am sorry, hmsgirl, there is still no trial yet. Perhaps in the next chapter!

  
  
  


Chapter 6: Fellowship

  


It was late in the afternoon when Frodo awoke. Motes of dust hovered in the sharply angled beams of sunlight streaming in through the window. For a moment, he was disoriented, unfamiliar with his surroundings, but then the events of earlier in the day came flooding back.

He padded over to the window and peered out. The westering sun shone rich and golden upon his left cheek. Although the room from which he gazed was on the first floor, the Houses of Healing were near one of the great encircling walls high up in the City. Indeed, he could see down along all the tops of the houses and over each of the lower walls; down, down until the very Gates. Softly, the low light threw all the shapes into golden and shadowed relief. Soon, however, the light would fade as the sun sank behind the Ered Nimrais, cut off by the slopes of Mount Mindolluin.

He was reluctant to leave such a sight, but he was even more reluctant to be left alone in the coming darkness. In vague hopes of finding food and a well-lit hall, he left his room and wandered along the corridors. He passed many rooms, most with their doors opened. Some were small like his own, but some were large with many men lying in beds or looking out, as he had done, at the oncoming twilight.

Shy at being discovered in his wanderings, he hurried by. No one noticed him, or heard the soft pattering of his hobbit feet. Soon, however, he came to a long corridor which stretched out to the left and to the right. He stopped, hesitating, unsure of which direction to follow. It was only a moment though before he was discovered by a matron bearing a tray of food.

"Excuse me," he said, suddenly uncertain of which would be the correct form of address for a care giver in Gondor. "Could you please tell me where I may go to have something to eat?"

She looked at him in surprise and then suddenly she smiled. "Ah, forgive me. You startled me coming out of the shadows just then. You must be the Ringbearer. We were told that you were here, my lord. I could have food brought to your room, or if it pleases you more, you may follow me to the dining hall."

"I would rather go to the dining hall, thank you," he said politely, and followed her.

The Hall was busy. Many were entering and leaving the back kitchen bearing trays of food meant for those who were confined to their rooms. Some others were eating and chatting at the wooden trestle tables. 

"I must be off now, but you pick wherever you like to sit. The server is at the back of the hall. He will give you your food." With a swirl of skirts, the matron left.

Frodo tried to thank her but was not quick enough. Disappointed, he gazed around the Hall. A soaring roof, with wooden rib vaulting, gave the impression of darkness, but the walls and tables were well lit by candles and torches. No sooner than he had taken a step towards the back of the hall, a soft voice came from behind him.

"I see that you are at a loss, Ringbearer. May I help you?"

Frodo turned around and, to his dismay, saw the Lady Eowyn standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," he said. He quickly moved aside. "I am blocking your way."

She laughed gently. "No, not at all. But perhaps I can help you. I have come here to eat and to rest a little. Would you like to eat with me?"

Frodo hesitated. Shame coloured his cheeks as he remembered his behaviour earlier in the day.

"If you would rather not," she added, seeing his consternation, "then that is quite all right."

"No, no," he said hastily. "I would be honoured. I'm sorry. I thought that perhaps..."

"You need worry about nothing here, Frodo," she said gently. "I understand your dilemma. Come. Let us sit by the window, and I will bring you some food."

It was only a moment before she came back, bearing two bowls of stew and two pieces of bread. She joined Frodo by the window and gave him a cup of water with his food.

"I am sorry for the water. At any other time, we would have wine, but..."

Frodo cradled the cup in his hands. He shook his head. "I prefer water, actually," he said softly. A moment later, he looked up again to see Eowyn watching him reflectively.

"If it is not impertinent of me to ask," he said, "why do you serve here? I was told that you were the Lady of Rohan, betrothed to Lord Faramir."

She smiled. "And so it is true. Yet I too lay within these walls for a short time. And I will soon depart for Rohan to look upon my home one last time. For I must make all ready for the return of my lord Theoden."

She stopped then, and Frodo could see sadness touch her eyes. He moved as if to speak, but then she shook off her melancholy and spoke anew. "I would spend my last days in Minas Tirith in these Houses, learning all that I can about the art of healing. For by doing so, I am myself further healed." She looked at him directly. "We were both touched by the evil of that thing that killed my foster father. I understand you, Frodo, and the pain which drives you from all those around you. I cannot claim to know all that troubles you, but we do have something in common and it is my hope that you may find it within you to talk of the other."

Frodo looked away. "I do not think that you would want to hear of it," he said, bitterly. "I thank you for your kind words, but your deeds have been valiant. I cannot say the same for mine."

Eowyn paused a moment, as if considering her words. At last she spoke: "Although I do not agree with you, I will let it rest. For only you can know when you may speak easily and I would not press you. But consider this if you will. I leave for Rohan in a few days. Until then, will you not keep company with me? It might be dull at times, for I am resolved to learn all I can of healing, even the tedious and unexciting things, but I would welcome your friendship."

Frodo looked at her then and rose. He bowed to her deeply and said, "But for when the King demands my presence, I would be honoured to keep your company, my lady. You show me kindness such as I do not deserve."

"It is decided then," she answered, and took up her cup in both hands. She drank deeply and set it down. "I will look for you in the morning when it is light."

  
  


* * * 

  


Frodo returned to find his room lighted with candles and a small fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. 

"Here he is," Merry said. "Wonderful! Watch out, Frodo, your days of hiding are finished! The truly great thing about you being put in here is that we now know where to find you!"

"That's right," Pippin added. "Although I imagine that you will soon know every nook and cranny in this place and, hey, whoops, you'll be off again."

"Don't you go giving him any ideas, now," Sam warned. "He might just do that, he might."

Frodo looked at them bemusedly. He had followed the sounds of hobbit chatter back to his room and was now wondering vaguely how far the sound was travelling through the rest of the hushed corridors.

Pippin flung open the arched glass windows and leaned out. Sam joined him. Fortunately, they were standing on a bench under the window, or Sam would never have been able to peer over the edge.

"Why, cousin, a room of your own, on the first floor, and overlooking the garden! Trust a Baggins to get the pick of any decent hobbit-style dwelling!" Pippin grinned.

Merry rolled his eyes, and even Sam smirked. Frodo reluctantly smiled, and folded his arms across his chest. "Trust a Took to find what a Baggins has found, move right in, and make himself comfortable." He looked at the fire and the candles.

"Cousin! You wound me!" Pippin laid a hand dramatically over his chest. He leaned back a little in mock grief. Suddenly he found himself flailing in mid-air. "Woah!" he cried. Catching each side of the window frame, he pulled himself back into the room.

"Well, that is one way to get rid of a Took!" Merry said. "That's it, Frodo, insult him again, and we'll be rid of him for good!"

"Just wait half a tick. I'll think of something," Frodo laughed. 

The other three looked at him. 

"What is it?" he said, puzzled.

"Nothing much, my dear hobbit," Merry said. "We just haven't heard you make such a sound for a long time."

"It's a good sound to hear too, if I may make so bold, sir," Sam added. "I wouldn't mind hearing it more often."

Frodo looked at them, suddenly sobered. They all gazed at him expectantly, with relief shining in their faces. "I'll try my best," he said thickly. The mood was broken.

Merry nodded. "Right," he said quickly. "Now don't change on us! I'm still waiting for some marvellous withering word to cut Pippin down to size. Don't disappoint me!"

"And he surely needs some sort of cutting to size," Sam added. He looked at his master beseechingly. "He's been strutting around as if he were the Bullroarer himself! Begging your pardon, Master Pippin, sir!" he said in a quick aside.

"My goodness," Pippin said. "You Hobbiton lot do gang up on the rest of us, don't you! And Merry, I would have thought better of you! Well, I will prove my worth to you and simply..." he leaned back once more, "pluck...," he most gracefully reached down, "a flower for my dear cousin's..." 

There was a strangled sound, a brief commotion, as Pippin's legs swung up and disappeared through the window.

"Pippin!" gasped Frodo.

"Not to worry!" Pippin said cheerfully, his head popping up past the ledge. He reached in. "Here's your flower. A little bent though." He looked at it ruefully.

"Pippin!"

  
  


* * * 

  


Footsteps echoed briefly and then were lost among the great black pillars of the King's Hall of the Citadel. Aragorn listened as he stood by one of the flaming torches set in the wall of the great outer aisles. The sound of the steps stopped for a moment, and then altered and grew louder. Gandalf appeared from between one great pillar and a statue of an ancient king.

"You are troubled," he said as he approached Aragorn. "What counsel do you desire, that you request my presence after all others have left."

Aragorn turned to face him. "The Ringbearer has asked me to judge him. He claims that he is guilty for submitting to the will of the Ring at the very last. He claims that he has betrayed all who had depended upon him."

"Guilty," Gandalf murmured sadly. "Yes, guilt for failing to reach the unattainable."

"I wish not to do this thing," Aragorn said, impassioned. "But I have given my word, and I would not be proven false." He leaned against the wall, head bowed as if in defeat. "Oh, Gandalf, my friend, I do not know what to do. How can I judge Frodo? I owe much to him, and I hold him high in my esteem. And yet he would have me impose my will upon him."

"And you must do so if you have truly given your word."

"I have."

Gandalf simply watched him as Aragorn strove to find words in protest, but none came. A long silence passed. "Follow me," the wizard said. He walked down the long aisle, and slipped through the shadows between the pillars into the centre of the great hall. Aragorn walked after him silently, wondering as he approached the dais.

Gandalf stood by the throne of Gondor and looked at the carven canopy behind which the Silver Tree glimmered upon the wall. "Such a grand thing this is," he mused. "Had you thought that you would be here now, come into your inheritance, when you first met Frodo at Bree?"

"I had imagined it," Aragorn answered doubtfully, He stood on the lowest step of the dais. "But I knew not then if it would have come to pass."

"And yet you are here now. Greatly changed in circumstance, but unchanged in purpose. Tell me. Would Frodo have recognized you as you are now – King of these lands?"

Aragorn laughed mirthlessly. "He would not have done so. I recall that he had difficulty recognizing me as trustworthy whatsoever."

"And yet now he trusts you with his life."

Aragorn frowned. "But he is not asking me to guard his life."

"No, he isn't. But he has seen you change from dubious guide to ruler of this realm, and his trust in you is unwavering. He knows that you will keep your word. He knows that you will listen to him fairly, and most importantly that you will dispassionately weigh good against evil.

"He is not evil!"

"And he knows," Gandalf continued, "that you will not place personal feelings in front of duty and honour."

"He needs healing, not judgement."

"And who is to say that one cannot be the other? Perhaps even Frodo suspects this, although he may not even be aware that he does so. Nevertheless, penance itself can be an agent of healing."

Aragorn walked up the steps and said "I will not judge him solely in the aim of healing him. That is not what he has requested, and to do that would be no better than merely humouring him."

"And nor should you." Gandalf sat in the throne then, and ran his hands thoughtfully over the arm rests. "Good chair," he said. "But however well it may fit me, it fits another better." He stood up. "Your throne awaits you, King Elessar. Make certain it fits you well."

Aragorn sat. Gandalf watched in silence. "It fits me well," Aragorn said at last. "Thank you, old friend. Your arguments served to temper my own thoughts, and to turn hesitance into resolve."

Gandalf walked down the steps and then turned. He bent his head in a slight bow, and then turned and strode out of the hall, his robes billowing behind him.

Aragorn stayed there, listened, and pondered as the sound of the wizard's steps echoed amongst the pillars. 

  
  


To be continued

  



	7. And In Your Stead?

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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Endymion: That's a good point! The Houses of Healing are not exactly convenient for the battlefield, are they. Yet every time I read The Return of the King, that is always where I picture them. For example, Merry had to stumble up seemingly endless streets, and Pippin talked of Eowyn being taken "up into the Citadel," after the encounter with the Witch King. I think that you are right, it is because the Houses are meant to be kept safe from warfare.

Shirebound: "Chapters out of a book of long-lost "post-Quest" tales"? Thank you so much for such a compliment! I must say that I have been attempting to write something that could possibly (possibly!) fit inside the story of the Ring. I don't think that it is good enough for that, but if you feel that there is even a hint of that "atmosphere," then I am honoured. (I have also had to curb my fondness for hobbit h/c and a more dramatic style of trial for that very reason. It always comes down to: is this believable given what was written in the Red Book?)

Endymion, Mariole, MBradford, Kay, and Coriandra: Thank you for your encouragement of my including Eowyn. I see her as a vital part of this story and that she has some things very much in common with Frodo although they are very different people.

Mbradford (and Kay): Yes, I wish I could come home to a room full of hobbits once in a while, too!

Bookworm2000: *Ten* fish? What a superlative compliment! I would have been flattered with a rating of only two! I will try to live up to such standards. Thank you, nice Massster!

Aratlithiel: Thank you for your kind words. "Lyrical" has such a lovely sound to it. I must say that this is the first time for me for many things: one for doing such a "Work-in-Progress", and two, for trying to make the language fit such a style. Tolkien used words of predominantly Anglo-Saxon origin, and so I have to try to curb my (modern) tendency to use too many polysyllabic words of Latin origin... or rather, Latin via French (as in post-Norman invasion language influence). It is a bit of a battle, but you give me hope!

Coriandra: I hope so too. Remember though, Gandalf was speaking of possibilities (or maybe probabilities). There is no guarantee...

Lizmybit, Endymion, and Mariole: I'm glad that you liked the "Trust a Took to find..." exchange. I am quite fond of that line myself and enjoyed writing it!

Claudia, Midgette, QTPie-2488, and Shireling: thank you for your reviews. I enjoyed reading them, and I am so glad you are enjoying (or are continuing to enjoy) my story.

  
  
  


Chapter 7: And in Your Stead?

  
  


True to her promise, Lady Eowyn sought Frodo soon after daybreak. He was awake and ready when she came, and they ate together in the dining hall. Sounds of life stirring were about them as cooks, care givers, and other helpers of various sorts made ready for the new day.

Frodo rubbed his hand across his brow, tiredly. He had slept uneasily and did not feel refreshed. Disquieting dreams had plagued his sleep, and now he picked at his food, ill at ease.

"Are you well, Frodo?" Eowyn asked, concerned. "If you desire it, you may put off our appointment until such time as you feel ready."

Frodo shook his head firmly. "I thank you, but I wish to do this. And were I to return to my room, I would not be able to sleep again."

"Then eat well, Ring-bearer," she said, "for you will do little good stumbling after me with an empty stomach!"

Frodo smiled ruefully and ate with determination.

After they had broken their fast, Eowyn led Frodo to the second floor, and as they made their way to the first of the large rooms, she spoke. "The Warden has given his blessing on our venture. He deems that I know enough to teach you the very simplest of the healing skills. Indeed, that will take up any time that we may have together before I depart."

And so the two worked together, moving through the rooms of the Houses of Healing, with Frodo learning how to see which of the sick could be eased with cool cloths, or strengthening draughts of simple make. Eowyn did not teach of the higher skills in mixing medicinal herbs for, as she said, "You would need much longer a time in study to safely determine correct choice and amounts that are needful. Better that you are sure in giving comforts to those in need of a simple touch, or even a gentle word or two, than to err in uncertain judgement which could bring harm."

At first, Frodo felt awkward when speaking to those who received his ministrations. But soon he realized that he was a comfort to them with his gentle approach and courteous voice. Even as he evaded any close questioning of his adventures, he found that when he inquired of the questioners in return, his patients were all too willing to talk about themselves. 

And so Frodo came to find a kind of oddly restful peace in tending the sick. His fears and troubles did not leave him, but while he bent his will towards learning his newfound craft, and while talking to those he comforted, they ceased to haunt his every thought. The morning passed swiftly, so much so that he was startled when Eowyn bade him to cease.

As they ate, Eowyn looked curiously at his right hand. "Forgive me if my question troubles you, but I have seen you favour your hand. Does it still pain you to use it?"

Frodo looked down at the curled fingers. With an effort, he straightened them. "It is all right," he said, unwilling to speak of it any further. "I am able to do what you ask of me."

So unyielding was his answer that Eowyn forbore from making any further enquiry. And indeed she had little chance to press Frodo more for a moment later, the messenger came. Two guards of the Citadel were waiting at the gates to the Houses with summons.

It was noon, and they had come for him.

  


* * * 

  


Fellen walked disconsolately down the cobbled street. He had received a scolding when he had returned home at dinner the night before. The story of how the children had been found pestering the Ring-bearer had reached his father's ears, and his mother had been angered by his truancy at mealtime. The result had been a curfew and extra duties around the home. A two day restriction from leaving their section of the City had also been imposed which dismayed Fellen the most. Such an intense longing to return and to possibly see once more the brooding Perian who had oh! so briefly allowed a connection between them tested his obedience sorely. He wondered if he would be able to follow the strict injunction his parents had laid down for him.

Fellen longed to talk to someone about the Ring-bearer, but he had already evaded the other children's questions. He couldn't talk to them. And his parents? They would no doubt see any mention of the perian as a sign of his overweening curiosity. He thought of Bergil then who, as it was rumoured, continued to see Peregrin from time to time. 

He dashed headlong to Bergil's house. If only Bergil were there, he thought.

To his dismay, he found the dwelling full of people and activity. When Beregond came out of the front door, carrying some heavy bundles, Fellen shrank back around the corner. He certainly did not want to meet Beregond after the day before. He suspected that the deeds of himself and the other children were well known to the neighbours and rather infamous.

He also wasn't quite sure exactly what had been told about his own role -- had he been depicted as the ring-leader? All in all, it was best, he felt, that he stayed out of Beregond's sight.

Then he spotted Bergil walking up the street and he waved his hand, furtively beckoning him to the side of the house.

Bergil saw him and sauntered up with a grin. "I've heard you were caught spying on the Pheriannath yesterday."

"Only one of them!" said Fellen defensively. He kept a nervous look out for any adults.

"That's not what Pippin said this morning. Apparently you all were looking in the windows at the mess hall. He thought it quite humourous!"

"Humorous?" Fellen stopped short at that. No matter that he himself had not been looking through the window. Somehow, he hadn't considered that any of the Pheriannath would actually find something entertaining. That made them a little more... normal. He hesitated then. "They didn't mind, then?"

Bergil looked at him oddly. "No, they didn't. In fact, he said that Sam -- that's the shorter one you lot were wondering about the other day -- Sam would like to meet you scamps."

Fellen's mind was in a whirl. He digested this news silently for a moment, until Bergil turned to leave. Frantically, he tugged on Bergil's tunic. "What about the Ring-bearer?" he whispered urgently.

Bergil turned back in surprise. "The Ring-bearer?" He frowned. "They won't talk about him. I do not know why. He's different somehow." He shrugged. "But he's their leader, I think. He doesn't go down to the Guards' Mess Hall like the others. Perhaps he eats with the King."

"Eats with the King." Fellen savoured this new piece of information and then tucked it away for later. "Bergil, do you think that, perhaps, the Ring-bearer might want to meet us too?"

"I doubt it!" Bergil said, with almost a shout of laughter. He drew himself up proudly. "My father has met him though. Fair spoken, he said. Almost elvish-looking, although you couldn't say that of the others!"

A shadow fell across them. Fellen looked up and gasped when he saw Beregond watching them.

"Don't be so surprised, lad!" Beregond said, chuckling. "Don't fret, I haven't come to berate you once again for spying on the Ring-bearer. I must admit, if I had been your age, I might have wanted to do the same thing myself."

"But you said..."

"Nevermind, lad. I've heard you've received a fair bit of punishment. Let it go at that!"

Bergil was staring openly at Fellen in astonishment. "You saw the Ring-bearer?"

"Only for a moment," Beregond told him. "Come on now, there is a lot more to be done."

Fellen found his tongue again. "What are you doing?" 

"We are making ready for our journey to Ithilien," Bergil said, with glee. "My father will be leading the first march of Lord Faramir's men to Osgiliath. I get to march with them!"

"You're leaving?" This hit Fellen like a blow.

"Don't worry, it won't be for a week yet, but we must make ready for the move before the march." Beregond tousled Fellen's hair. "You will have some time yet before he leaves." He walked away.

Bergil leaned towards Fellen then. "I'll ask Pippin about you meeting them," he said in a whisper. "Perhaps I shall even ask if we can meet the Ring-bearer too."

Before Fellen could stop him, he was gone. Meet the perian in a group? No, that was not what he wanted. The tenuous connection he had felt was too fragile to be risked in an official, arranged, and blunt meeting with Manrim, Telgan and the others. And yet...

With decidedly mixed feelings, he walked slowly back home.

  


* * * 

  


They brought him to the Hall of Kings. Only once before had Frodo stood before the great door which now opened to admit him. That time had been joyous, a time of celebrations, following the return of the host of Gondor from Ithilien. Now he stood there with trepidation oddly mingled with relief. One of the guards bid him enter.

As he walked down the length of the hall, he could hear the firm footfalls of the guards flanking him, but little else. At the far end of the hall, Aragorn was seated upon the great throne, waiting. The guards brought him to the foot of the steps of the dais and then at a signal from the King, they retreated. Soon there was a profound stillness through which Frodo could only hear his own uneven breathing.

"You may come up the steps, Ring-bearer."

Frodo looked around the hall in some confusion. "Are we alone then?"

Aragorn looked at him steadily. "Do you wish for me to call in the guards?"

"No, no, I don't ask for that," Frodo said, flustered, "but I thought that... that claims were heard openly."

"Do you wish to be observed? If so, you need only ask. It is your choice."

Frodo shook his head, dismayed. "I don't wish to question you. I am content." 

He climbed the steps until he was facing Aragorn directly. Even standing, he had to gaze up at Aragorn. He felt very small indeed. No more was the man who was looking at him his old friend: not Strider, nor even Aragorn. Nay, it was the King whom Frodo now faced.

"Make now your claim, Frodo."

Frodo stepped forward and said, unwaveringly, "I have betrayed the free peoples of these lands. In defiance of my vow, given at the Council of Elrond, I put on the One Ring and claimed it for my own. In that moment, I laid bare the plans of the Council to the Enemy and nearly brought the West to ruin. I deserve to be punished for this crime."

"This is a serious claim that you make, Ring-bearer, and not one to be made lightly. However, do you not fail to consider other claims that could argue against you?"

Frodo shook his head, agitated. "I was entrusted with the Ring and the Quest! I freely took on the responsibility of destroying the Ring. I was fully aware of the dangers: I can't plead ignorance."

"Freely? That is a poor choice of words, Frodo. The knowledge of the dire need to have the Ring destroyed was weighing heavily on you, I deem. And I believe that, aware of it or not, you knew the dangers of having the Ring handled by those with power. In fact, I put it to you that you felt, quite rightly, that you were the only one who could have taken the Ring safely on its journey."

"Safely?" Frodo asked bitterly. "But isn't that the point? It wasn't safe in my hands. I did not resist it. I allowed it to corrupt me in the end."

"In the end, yes. But tell me this. How well do you believe anyone else would have fared in your stead?"

"I kept the Ring, and betrayed those who had entrusted me with it."

"Answer my question. How far would another have made it. I, for example, or Boromir?"

Frodo hesitated. Aragorn watched him keenly, and Frodo felt as if he were reading his very thoughts. He shifted upon his feet, for he knew full well that it would have been disastrous had Boromir taken the Ring. He was also uncomfortably aware of his own early, half-formed suspicions of Aragorn. Memories of the tale of Isildur rose unbidden in his mind.

"Well? What say you to my question?"

Frodo shook his head dumbly. 

Aragorn sighed then. "If not Men, nay, do not demur! I can see that you do not wish to sully the character of my own kind. Would have any other member of the Fellowship been better suited to carry the Ring?"

Frodo considered this. "Gandalf refused to take it. He wouldn't even touch it, unless, he said, there was great need."

Aragorn nodded slowly. "Gimli?"

"Of course not," Frodo said without thinking. "Well," he amended awkwardly, "the Dwarves' love of gold... At first, his motives would have been pure--- "

A smile touched Aragorn's lips. "I will not tell friend Gimli of your words. Yet I believe you speak wisely. A weakness of the Dwarves, you say, only too easily used by the will of the Ring. And what of Legolas?

"I do not know." Frodo frowned. "My heart tells me he would not have accepted the burden."

"Yet you did. For what reasons did you feel you should do so?"

Frodo cast his thoughts back to that day in Rivendell. He said slowly, "Gandalf said that those with power were more easily corrupted by the Ring. I am neither strong nor powerful."

"And you were considering this at the time?"

Frodo hesitated. "I am not sure. I don't remember being aware of anything save for a feeling of compulsion. I simply had to speak."

"And so you chose to take the Ring. Yet you said that you are neither strong nor powerful. I cannot dispute that. But then, there were others in the Fellowship who matched your description. Do you suggest that perhaps one of them could have taken the Ring? Sam, for an instance?"

"No!"

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "No? Why do you say that?"

Taken aback by his own vehement reply, Frodo closed his eyes. The close questioning was taking its toll on him, and he felt uncertain under Aragorn's unbending regard. 

"Sam is honest and trustworthy," he said at last, and opened his eyes with difficulty. "And I believe that the Ring had less effect on him than on me, but... he would not have had the understanding or, or the nature, the conceit to burden himself with a task that no one else would have taken. He has too honest and gentle a nature." He was at a loss for words to describe his friend as something possibly wanting. "Sam's strength is to nurture, to support. He belongs with growing things, and the earth. It would have been wrong to expect him to have anything to do with such an insidious evil as that---thing!"

The King leaned down then, and said, very softly, "Some have said that last thing of you."

Dubiously, Frodo shook his head. "I am different. I knew of evil and terrifying things outside the borders of the Shire. I grew up with that knowledge, and always with, with the idea that I too would go on a journey some day, just like Bilbo. I wasn't innocent of the knowledge of evil things the way Sam was. And... Sam's strength is in loyalty. He could not have, would not have taken the lead role in any venture. He would have rebelled at such an idea."

Aragorn smiled once again. "Truly you speak words of clarity concerning Sam. What of Merry or Pippin?"

"Pippin? He was too young! He wouldn't have fully understood the dangers of such a mission."

Aragorn leaned back then. "I could certainly tell you that no one at the Council of Elrond would have accepted Pippin, for those very reasons," he said, solemnly

Frodo was oblivious. "And Merry..." he said, "Merry, of all of them, perhaps... But my heart tells me he would not have been a good choice."

"Why?"

"He... he is too practical. Full of plans. Very much a hobbit of action. But could he have sacrificed himself to such a task? Make such a pledge? And would not the Ring have tempted him on his very strengths and desire of seeing the job done?"

Aragorn regarded him sorrowfully. "Sacrifice? Perhaps now. But then? Who can say. Yet you knew him best, and thus I accept your argument."

He stood up then and walked down the steps. Frodo turned and watched him but did not move. Aragorn stopped at the lowest step and considered for a moment. Without turning around, he said, "You have given me a convincing argument that you were the ideal choice as Ring-bearer."

"By elimination, not by design. And it doesn't matter if I failed in my promise! And does it not signify that I had advantages that others did not? I should have resisted the Ring!"

Aragorn turned then and strode up the steps. "Should you have?" he demanded. He sat down once again. "But that is a matter I wish to keep for another day. For now, suffice it to say, you were indeed the right choice. By your own words you have said that you had little strength or power for temptation by the Ring. You had the knowledge to understand what was at stake, and I would say that you were aware of your own shortcomings. There was no bravado. No overconfidence---alas that Boromir fell prey to the last!' Aragorn's voice was tight with anguish. A moment passed, and he spoke again. "Furthermore, do not forget the words: _And the halfling forth shall stand_. I assure you, I have not!"

Silence fell. Frodo cast about for words but he was in vain, for he could not gainsay what Aragorn had said. Defeated, he bowed his head.

"Go, now, Ring-bearer, and think upon the words that have been spoken here today. We shall meet again on the morrow, when we will consider other matters of your claim."

And upon a signal from the King, the two guards came and escorted Frodo back through the stone avenue of kings, and to the Houses of Healing.

  
  


To be continued


	8. In Giving of Oneself

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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aelfgifu: I haven't heard the term Socratic dialogue since Philosophy 101, a long time ago! Thanks for reacquainting me with it.

shireling: He really is, isn't he. He just can't see anything concerning himself without filtering it through doubt and guilt...

endymion: I'm glad to hear that I've cleared up another peculiarity of the English language for you! English is full of such oddities, a lot of it due to the long history of cultural influxes, but that's one of the reasons I love it! One can see the history of the language in such phrases, odd spellings, pronunciations and such. I count my blessings though, that I don't have to learn it as a second language!

Aratlithiel: I am on your Favourite Authors list? That certainly means something to me! Thank you for such a compliment.

hmsgirl: Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? grin

Skyler Blue: Thank you for your review. Well, I have done creative writing before, but nothing like this... I found your points interesting on why Legolas wouldn't have been a good choice as Ring-bearer. I would also think that no elf would _want_ to carry the Ring.

Ami: Thank you – I am glad to hear that my story rates one of your rare reviews.

Lizmybit; MBradford; Nilmandra; Claudia; Bookworm2000; shirebound; QTPie-2488; katakanadian; Mariole; Coriandra: All of you have given me such warm feedback concerning the trial itself. You have no idea how much that means to me as I was approaching it with some trepidation. I knew how I wanted to write it, but I had no idea how it would go over with the readers. I am so glad that my approach has had resonance with all of you "out there."

And thank you to new reviewers: Nilmandra; MelodySongSinger; Anora; Skyler Blue; (and Ami once again) for your reviews. I am glad that you are enjoying the story.

  
  
  


A/N: In this chapter, I have changed the way I have described the levels of Minas Tirith. Until now (or at least mainly in the first chapter), I have been counting _down_ from the top when I have referred to the levels of the city. However, while writing this chapter, I started to question my assumption and took quite some time to hunt down any reference to the numbering of the levels (and there are only one or two in the whole of RotK). I have now come to the conclusion that one is supposed to count _up_. So, apologies to all, but I have now adopted that manner of numbering the levels. So, in Chapter One, the children saw the hobbits "up on the fifth wall" instead of the third! The Houses of Healing are on the sixth level, and the Citadel, and Hall of Kings is on the seventh.

I also have to say that, at least for the next month or so, it is going to take me longer to post each chapter. I hope to keep to a schedule of every two weeks, but I cannot guarantee even that, especially for the next chapter/until the end of June. Hopefully, in July things will calm down, and I can get back to once a week... So, please bear with me until then. I have made this chapter a little longer than usual, to tie you over, so to speak!

  
  
  


Chapter 8: In Giving of Oneself

  
  


She found him in his room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed lost in thought. The room was dim.

"Frodo?" she said.

Frodo looked up, startled, and then, as it seemed to Eowyn, he took a moment to collect himself.

"If you are willing," she said, and sat down beside him, "I need help in tending the wounded. This work would differ from the morning's tasks. Some of the healers have left for the fields where there has been a mishap, and so I am needed to remain behind and tend the old wounds of those who have not yet healed. Will you help me?"

"Yes." Frodo stood. 

Eowyn looked at the curled fingers of his right hand doubtfully. Frodo followed the direction of her gaze warily.

"Can you use your hand freely? You will need to do so with the work ahead of us."

"I am all right," he said hastily. "I had no difficulty this morning."

"You did not do the delicate work that awaits us now. I must know that you can do that which would be required of you, without hindrance. I may also be able to bring some ease to your hand if it still troubles you."

She moved as if to take his hand, and he backed away.

"Frodo, you cannot help me with the wounded if you refuse to use your hand freely. I need your help, but not in half measure."

She took his hand then, and started to unfold his fingers. 

He snatched his hand back as if he had been burned. His heart beat fast and he looked away, unwilling to meet the cool grey eyes which regarded him with candour. He could not say anything, either to excuse himself or to convince her to let the matter lie.

"If you do not let me ease the pain of your hand, then I cannot let you help me today." Eowyn rose. "I am loth to leave you behind, as I feel that you would have a deft touch, but, one-handed, you would only hinder rather than give aid when needed."

Frodo did not say anything, and so Eowyn made as if to leave. She paused at the door. "I ask you to reconsider. It would be better, I think, if you were to accept aid from those who would give it to you freely."

Even then, when no reply was forthcoming, she waited a moment in vain hope that Frodo would relent. Finally she went, leaving him to his own bitter thoughts.

  


* * * 

  


Crawling, worming his way through the culverts that led him to the hushed shadowed pathways, he only once met another living soul who had absentmindedly nodded to him while hurrying past. From then on, he took to the raised, overgrown gardens that lay forgotten between the upper stories of the empty houses and the base of the great wall of the fourth level. Some of the steps that led up between dwelling and wall were even crumbling, and choked with weeds and even wild flowers which hung, tangled, amongst the stones.

Nimble and sure-footed, he cared nothing for the uncertain walkways. In fact, he revelled at his expertise in the solitude, knowing exactly which stones were loose, and which paths connected to further secret ways -- all gradually bending to the right following the great wall.

Once, he had come across a cascade of ivy, mixed with unknown greenery that covered the wall like a curtain. A bird had flown into the green mass and disappeared and, curious, he had stuck his arms in to follow, so deep that his face had been pressed into the leaves.

What a shock it was when his fingers had touched a cold mouth. With a cry, he had wrenched his hand away and stood there trembling. It was a long time before he could work up the courage to lift the curtain away. Even that took time, for the foliage was deep, and the ivy clung determinedly to the stone. But bit by bit, he parted the vines just enough to allow a spot of sunlight to shine through.

It was a carving, terribly old, he felt. And it was of a great warrior, perhaps even a king. He couldn't know for sure except that the sombre dignity of the face spoke of nobility and wisdom. Reluctantly he had left the carving, the remainder unseen, and resolved to return and perhaps uncover another part of the mysterious picture. He never saw the bird, or its nest.

But then the war started, and he never had the chance to explore underneath the hanging greenery, nor tell anyone of his find. He had been sent away and, now that he had returned, the pheriannath had taken over his imagination. 

And now, Ah! he found his new goal, the stone arch over a small gateway that led to a sunken passage between building and hanging garden behind. The sunken pathway had been explored by him long ago, but it was the bridging arch that he wanted now.

He shimmied over the arch in a trice and was standing on the roof of the house. The roof was flat, and it boasted a vantage point that Fellen now prized greatly. For the height of the building raised him up, but the width of the garden separated him from the massive wall. Thus, he could more easily see up, up, above the fourth wall, past the fifth, and even just to the sixth.

No one was on the fifth wall today, at least on the southern side of the great circles. Disappointed, he idly cast his sight higher to the sixth wall, and then froze. Made tiny by the distance, but unmistakable in its hunched posture, one figure could be seen perched up on the heights.

Fellen frowned. Why would the Ringbearer be by the Houses of Healing? His eyes widened as he pondered the implications.

  


* * *

  


The stable was warm. Eowyn breathed in the close but not unpleasant air. A touch of Rohan, she thought. The familiarity eased her and when a soft whicker came from out of the muted shadows she smiled.

But she was here for a purpose, not for fond remembrances. Faint voices spoke at the very end of the long row of stalls, and so she made her way through bales of straw and hanging harnesses.

They were in the most spacious stall at the end. Her head came up proudly then, for even this stall was not as large as the one the chief of the Mearas had been given, as was his due, at Edoras. She laid her hand on the gate to the stall. Shadowfax whinnied a welcome.

"Lady Eowyn," Gandalf said. He smiled. "He seems glad to look upon one from his native land."

"As I am," she said, and laughed delightedly as Shadowfax whuffled in the palm of her outstretched hand. But she turned to King Elessar then, and her demeanour changed. "My lord, may I speak with you?" 

"Yes, my lady. What brings you here?"

"I have but a moment before I must return to the Houses, but I would speak with you concerning the Ring-bearer. I ask pardon, for I would speak with you alone."

"You need not ask for pardon," Gandalf said, "and do not fear that you insult me, for I know of the Ring-bearer's plight and am glad that you wish to guard his privacy." With those words, he took up his staff and departed.

Eowyn watched him as he left, and then turned to the King. "I do not know if I have done wrongly in your eyes, but I have had Frodo join me as I work with the sick. He has proven to be a great comfort to those he aids."

Aragorn smiled. "I know this for the Warden has told me. I am glad to hear of it."

Eowyn inclined her head. "But I fear that I may have committed an error, for at first, when Frodo was taken in to the Houses of Healing, I was much worried. I did not like to think that he was under such duress as to demand severe treatment from you." Her fingers nervously pleated the skirt of her gown. "In my worry, I told Lord Faramir of what happened."

She forced her hand to stop its movements and slowly flattened its palm against her leg. Shadowfax harrumphed from his stall.

"I am sorry," she said, "for I feel that this matter should have been kept quiet. Yet Lord Faramir wishes to intervene and plead on Frodo's behalf. He would ask for leniency, or offer some kind of aid if there is aught that he can do."

A silence fell. Eowyn raised her head and looked full upon Aragorn, yet he did not speak but looked at her consideringly.

"Have I erred, my lord?"

"You have," he said, but not ungently. "I would have Frodo choose to whom he would speak of this. Yet I know that you spoke out of concern for him, and good may come of this. Go then, to Faramir, and tell him this--that if I should need him, I will send for him."

With this, he strode away. But before he had gone more than a few steps, Eowyn spoke anew.

"There is one more thing I wish to ask you."

Aragorn stopped and turned to look back.

"Do you know why Frodo might not want to use his hand?"

  
  


* * * 

  


His toes had scrabbled briefly against the rough stone, but he was quickly up, and had settled himself against the upright block of stone, much as he had done only the day before. Only a day ago! It seemed as if it had been much longer.

This wall was higher in the City than the one he had been on earlier; and flowers, both cultivated and local, grew with abundance along the ramparts, for here were the Gardens of the Houses of Healing.

Frodo moved his left hand amongst the tallest of flowers which grew even as high as the wall itself. He paused, as if to pick one, but then withdrew his hand, for the flower was in full bloom and no doubt valued for its beauty. Instead, his hand settled on another which drooped. No fear of depriving passersby of pleasure from this one. He plucked it without remorse, and set it against his updrawn knees.

He knew not what kind of bloom it was, only that many of the petals still gleamed. He moved it, turning it back and forth, watching as the sunlight shimmered on its surfaces -- until he had turned it fully round and the wilted, decayed petals were uppermost. These were creased and brown-spotted, unlikely blemishes in a thing still growing.

He frowned and tried to smooth flat the offending parts. But they would not stay and immediately crumpled in on themselves. He let the flower fall.

He regretted his presence on the wall. He had seen Eowyn leave and return from an errand some time ago, and he knew that she would now be busy giving aid to those in need. He yearned for such labour, but it was not for him. He did not deserve such blessed distraction.

A voice broke through his thoughts.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ringbearer, sir?"

Frodo looked towards the voice and found himself staring into the face of the earnest young child that had watched him the day before. Too surprised to say anything, he watched as a flower, kin to that which he had abandoned, was solemnly placed in his lap. It glowed in the sun with full perfect colour.

The child just as solemnly bowed, looked anxiously at the windows and started to retreat. 

Frodo found his tongue at last and abruptly he said, "Please don't go."

"I'm not supposed to be here," was the whispered reply. "I can't be here until tomorrow."

Frodo gazed at the guiltily fidgeting child, and suddenly smiled, a quick guilty smile of his own. "Well, then, I'll be here tomorrow, too."

The child's face lit up. "Truly? Oh,_ thank you_!" And then he was off and running.

  


* * *

  


Sam found him in the same spot some time later, sunk into gloom once more.

Saying nothing, Sam stood by his master. And as Frodo looked at him, Sam stooped and picked up the flower that Frodo had earlier let fall. Thoughtfully, Sam looked at the petals gleaming in the sun, and then he brought it up to his nose and breathed in. A pleased smile appeared on his face, and he offered it to Frodo. Only then did he notice the other flower, still in Frodo's hands.

"Well, you have another one. But I reckon this one smells just as sweet. Have you smelled it, Master?"

Frodo bestirred himself with difficulty. He looked at the flower in his hand wonderingly. "No. I never thought to." Slowly, he brought it to his face and cautiously sniffed at it. Slightly surprised, he nodded approvingly.

"Now, wouldn't my Gaffer be surprised if he could see half the plants in this garden. But then he'd tell me to stick to the homegrown, like as not." Regretfully, Sam took his flower and tucked it alongside the other in Frodo's hand.

Frodo laid the flowers down side by side on the wall and clasped Sam's hand with his own. "Well, I don't see why you can't ask for some seedlings, Sam," he said fondly. "I am sure they'd survive the trip back to the Shire. And," his voice dropped to a whisper, "you needn't always follow what the Gaffer tells you."

"Why, I know that, Mr. Frodo!" Sam frowned. "At least, I do now. In fact, I was thinking just the other day that folk are going to find us mighty different when we get back."

Frodo pulled his hand away. "I know."

"Now don't do that, sir! Don't take what I say the wrong way. We have _all _changed. There's no going back on that, nohow. But I think that it will be good. Richer, somehow. Ah, I don't have your clever words to say it, but folks back home need a breath of fresh air, don't you think? Something to make them stop and wonder about something different for a change. Don't you think so?"

Frodo let himself down from the wall. "I used to think so."

"Have it your way then, sir. But what I really wanted to know is if you've seen the trees in this garden. They look wonderful from here, but I've been waiting until you were so minded as to have a look."

"All right then, Sam. Let's have a look. I can't promise that I shall be good company, but if you want, I'll come."

And so they walked on the greensward which ran between Houses and Wall, marvelling at the great trees, the only ones of their kind in the City. The cool shade from the canopy of new leaves was refreshing, and the sunlight was dappled on the grass.

As they sat beneath a great elm, they saw Aragorn coming towards them. Frodo frowned, and made as if to get to his feet, but Sam laid a hand on his arm. Frodo looked at him curiously but subsided.

"Frodo, Samwise," Aragorn said as he came nigh.

Once more, Frodo attempted to rise, but this time Aragorn forestalled him by seating himself, with his back against the tree trunk. The two hobbits faced him.

He spoke without preamble. "Lady Eowyn has told me that you haven't felt up to the tasks she set for you this afternoon."

Frodo felt a flush mantle his cheeks. "I was willing to go with her."

"Be at ease, it is not a thing you must do. However, it makes me glad to see you willingly give of yourself to the people within. No, I am far more concerned that you will not use your hand."

"I use it," Frodo said, heatedly.

"Thumb and forefinger only is what Lady Eowyn has seen." 

He looked down at his right hand, clenched awkwardly in his lap. He could feel both Aragorn and Sam's gaze on him. 

"Frodo," and Aragorn's voice was gentle. "You came to the Houses to find healing. Do not scorn what they have to offer you."

Frodo struggled inwardly for a moment but then despaired at the next words.

"You agreed that you would accept any such help or healing as would be offered to you. Is that not true?"

Frodo's voice was soft with regret. "It is true."

"Then give me your hand."

Slowly, he stood and moved closer. He held out his hand reluctantly.

"He can surely sit, can't he, Strider?" Sam said, and, not waiting for an answer, stood behind his master and, with gentle pressure on Frodo's shoulders, pushed him down.

Frodo was almost unaware of Sam's touch, his gaze fixed instead on his hand. Aragorn took it and firmly turned it upward. It was still clenched shut.

"Open it, Frodo," he commanded. 

Slowly, cautiously, with rigid fingers protesting, Frodo opened it. The shock of cool air on his sweating palm surprised him. The skin felt vulnerable.

And when Aragorn pressed his thumbs into the open palm, in firm strokes from wrist to base of fingers, Frodo gave an in-drawn hiss of pain and jerked his hand back. But Aragorn did not let go and Frodo was forced to endure the continued assault.

Slowly, almost disbelievelingly, he realized that the pain was lessening, and instead, a tingling warmth stole through his hand. He felt Sam stir at his side and heard him give a satisfied murmur as the tension drained out of his master. Now each finger was being rubbed and gently twisted. Stiff muscles relaxed, and it felt as if his skin had come alive, vibrant to the touch.

But Aragorn did not touch the gap of his missing finger. He treated it with great respect, manipulating skin almost to the very edges of the wound, but never directly touching it. Frodo relaxed, indeed, he almost would have sagged in his relief if Sam hadn't braced himself against his master and put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

And then, as he worked, Aragorn spoke. "Inaction is your enemy, Frodo. You must use your hand freely. Do not deny it movement, for you will simply increase the pain."

Now wrist and forearm were being attended to, and Frodo hadn't realized until then how tense they were. Aragorn continued to speak.

"Each day, nay, twice a day, you must let Lady Eowyn tend to your hand. And Samwise, here, too. I believe that he has been watching this with great diligence and could repeat my actions precisely."

Sam nodded emphatically. "I could, too, at that. If you'll let me, Mr. Frodo."

"He will." Aragorn carefully laid Frodo's warm, relaxed hand upon the hobbit's bent knee. "Do not let this happen again. It may be that your wound will hurt for a long time -- I have seen such wounds act so, but do not let it hold the rest of your hand hostage. Make it work. I shall instruct Lady Eowyn to tend to your hand, and then, if you are willing to do so, I shall ask her to have you accompany her once more on her rounds."

Frodo nodded dumbly, and Aragorn rose. "This is truly a beautiful place," he mused, looking about him. He turned back to the hobbits who had also risen. "I envy you your rest here. Use it well!" And with that, he was gone.

"That Strider," Sam said, admiringly, after a moment of reflective silence. "As they like to say around here: _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer_. Odd words, I always think, but true!"

"Yes, Sam," Frodo answered softly, distantly. "But true."

  
  


To be continued


	9. In Search of a Path

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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LilyBaggins: I am very glad that you liked what I did with the Trial scene in Chapter 7 -- the trial is the hardest for me to write of the entire story!

Nilmandra: It is very easy to typecast characters, isn't it. And Eowyn had such a big change in her own outlook on life. I still see her containing that inner core of steel, but now she is tempered by her newfound wisdom.

shirebound: No... no, I'm not. Really. I'm not. grin But flippancy aside, what a lovely, kind review! Thank you so much. I feel inspired to write every time I read your words...

Lizmybit: I too don't want to see it end. But there are a few more chapters to come, at least...

endymion: Well, it has become more of a medical problem, but I wouldn't discount your earlier suspicions just yet...

shireling: the description of that scene was helped by two experiences from my own past. The scene had been something I wanted to include from the beginning of this whole story... 

Fantasy Fan: Your thoughtful comments let me look at the chapter from a slightly different angle. Thanks!

Oselle: Yes, I read about that too. Yikes. I'm glad that long-ago reader was not in charge of Frodo's fate...

Lady Laura: Fellon the Felon?! Oh my, what has he done! :)

Budgielover: Thank you ever so much for your long and thoughtful review! I was delighted to receive it, and I certainly do not mind not having "back-reviews" of other chapters! Your words are descriptive and encouraging, and I am glad to know that you are reading my story, especially as I have had so much pleasure from reading yours.

Niphredil Of Doriath: I am glad that you returned! I am also glad to hear, as I am writing about a topic that you are particularly keen on, that you like the way I am treating it.

Ariel: Words of high praise indeed! I recognize many of the points you raise about pitfalls in fanfiction, and I have worked hard to avoid them. Thank you for telling me that I have done so. That means a lot to me. 

Arathlithiel, Kay, Bookworm2000, MBradford, and Coriandra: There is no Fellen in this chapter, but soon there will be a fair bit of hobbit/child interaction...

boromir and LanceSkoggle: Thank you for your reviews. I am glad you are enjoying this story.

  
  


Chapter 9: In Search of a Path

  
  


That evening, Frodo and Sam ate together in the Hall. Frodo, perceiving that Sam had been anxious about him, endeavoured to put the gardener at ease. When he brought him food and drink on a tray, Sam objected but Frodo overrode him. "Now Sam," he said, "you know what Aragorn said. I must use my hand, must I not? Then don't hinder me! Sit still and let me do a little work for a change."

But Sam was torn between recognizing the truth in those words and wishing to return to his familiar role. The two talked long over their meal of light, inconsequential matters for Sam was careful not to raise any subject that might distress his master, while Frodo wished to spare his friend from further concern.

Despite Frodo's new determination to use his hand normally, muscles stiff from injury, tension and lack of use quickly knotted again. Once the two hobbits had returned to Frodo's room, Sam lit the candles.

"All right then, Master, I'd say you've used your hand a mite too hard. Say what you will, but let your Sam tend to it."

Frodo smiled wryly. "I shan't say anything then." He sat down on the bed with a sigh. But Sam could still feel a slight resistance from Frodo when he took his hand. So Sam bade his master to lie down, and Frodo did so. 

Sam held Frodo's hand reverently in his own, gazed at it for a moment, and kissed it. Then he gently turned it over.

  


* * * 

  


"I still don't think that we were making that much noise," Pippin whispered resentfully.

"You may not have thought so," Merry whispered back, "but I definitely saw Frodo wince a couple of times."

"Right. Make me feel guilty, why don't you. All I did was fall out of the window once! The way the matron acted just now, there was a herd of oliphaunts stampeding through the halls."

Merry stopped for a moment and looked at Pippin thoughtfully. "You know, that's the best description I've heard yet. Suits you, cousin."

The expression on Pippin's face wavered for a moment between annoyance and mirth. Amusement won, and he chuckled. "Well, I suppose we were talking loudly, weren't we. But they won't hear us coming this time."

Merry looked at him rather skeptically but said nothing and followed him noiselessly through the halls.

So successful were they in their silence that they came to Frodo's room without attracting notice. And as they drew near, they could see flickering candle light through the doorway, even though there was no sound within. The two hobbits came to the door and then paused as they looked in.

After a moment, Pippin looked at Merry, his eyes shining a little too brightly. Merry nodded sympathetically and made a slight gesture as if to say "Enough--let us leave, then." But Pippin did not move. He stayed riveted to the spot and, slowly, Merry found himself drawing back to look in.

Frodo was lying on the bed, his eyes closed. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed opposite the door. But what drew Merry's eyes was the way Sam was holding Frodo's maimed hand -- holding it and kneading it with his fingers. That hand, which ever since Cormallen had been held out of sight from casual glance, now lay limply open, trustingly open, in Sam's gentle but firm hold.

And Sam's gaze, intent upon his task, was only broken when he focussed on Frodo's face, just for the briefest of moments, to assure himself that there was no distress. Merry smiled, a little fondly. There was no sign of discomfort whatsoever. Indeed, Frodo's face was still and untroubled, even though Merry could only see it in the uncertain light of a guttering candle at his bed-side.

And then the bed-side candle went out. In the dim light of the remaining candles, Merry could see Sam lay Frodo's hand carefully down and rise. Soon, the candle wick was trimmed and relit. But as Sam drew his hand back and took up Frodo's once again, he looked up and suddenly froze. Hastily, Merry put his finger over his lips warningly, and started to back away. But Sam's sudden stillness must have alerted Frodo who opened his eyes.

"We're sorry," said Merry, "we didn't want to disturb you. We were just going."

"No, no," said Frodo, slowly sitting up. "It's all right." 

Merry noticed with regret that the right hand was now quietly curled and hidden from view.

"That's right," said Sam. "I think Mr. Frodo could do with some company."

"And what are you, Sam?" cried Pippin with amusement, "if not company."

"Quite right, Pippin," Frodo said, smiling now. "If you are not company -- why then, what are you?"

Sam said nothing but shook his head. Somehow he managed to look both exasperated and abashed.

"We have news for you, Sam," Pippin said, gleefully. "Remember those children who were peeking in through the window the other day?"

"That I do," said Sam with interest. Frodo looked up questioningly.

"Well, they have asked, through Bergil, to meet us. They want to meet all of us. We have agreed on tomorrow, mid-afternoon, at Beregond's house." Pippin turned to Frodo. "I didn't promise that you would come, Cousin, but I am sure that the Warden would allow you to go. We could even ask Aragorn."

Frodo looked troubled. The others watched him anxiously. He shook his head. "I don't think I should. No, perhaps I shouldn't. But you go along, Sam. I know that you would enjoy it. They won't miss me, I'm sure."

Merry frowned. "I am not so sure about that. Bergil particularly asked about you." He paused. A hint of distress was beginning to show in Frodo's eyes. "But it's up to you. I don't see why you wouldn't be allowed to go."

Sam hastily got up. "I'll go. I can carry any message from the children if they are that keen to say something to you, sir. Perhaps another time you could meet them, if you were willing."

"Perhaps," said Frodo.

  


* * * 

  


It was morning, and in the third bed from the door, the man was struggling and crying out. The covers were twisted about his body.

"Do not touch me, you foul thing!"

Gentle hands attempted to hold him down but to no avail. They were shaken off, and the man sat bolt upright. "Get away from me!" he cried, and lashed out wildly.

Frodo was flung backwards and he fell against the next bed. A little dazed, he got up and looked around him. "Lady Eowyn," he called urgently.

"Let me help," a deep voice said behind him. Frodo stepped hastily away and turned around. The man who had been lying in the bed against which Frodo had fallen was rising to his feet.

"Are you sure that you can do this?" Frodo asked, worried.

"I am sure," the man answered. A moment later, he was kneeling by the bed of the struggling man and holding him down. "You may do your work, Ring-bearer."

Frodo once again cautiously approached the sick man and tried once more to remove the bandages from the man's wound. But to no avail. The man cried out again, and Frodo withdrew his hand.

With relief, he saw Eowyn approach. "He will not let me touch him. The wound pains him too much."

Eowyn gazed over the scene silently for a moment. "Does it strain you to hold him, my lord?"

"No, my Lady," said Frodo's helper. "He is my captain, and I know him well. My own wounds pain me little."

"Then you may continue."

Frodo hesitated. "I do not wish to hurt him. You could help him far better than I."

Eowyn frowned. "How fares your hand?"

Frodo looked at her. "It has been doing well since you tended it earlier. It is a little sore, but I can move it easily."

"Then I do not see how I could aid this man any better than you. You have a deft and careful touch, Frodo. I have seen it."

Agonized, Frodo wavered for a moment. Finally he said softly, "I don't wish to cause pain."

"Do you suggest that we leave the soiled bandages unchanged? The longer they stay, the worse it will become. How will that aid him?" Eowyn's voice was unyielding. She knelt down by the man's side and watched Frodo. After a moment, she spoke again more softly. "Sometimes we must give hurt if we are to heal. Do not shy away from this, Frodo. It will do you little good, and him none."

Frodo looked down, abashed, and then, once more, began to remove the bandages. When the cries grew loud, he doggedly continued until he had lifted away the last of the linen and gently washed the wound. Then, when he had bound the new linens in place, he stepped back, shaking slightly.

The sick man's friend loosened his hold and returned to his own bed. But before he sat down upon it, he bowed to Frodo. "Thank you, Ring-bearer, for helping my captain."

"You are welcome," said Frodo faintly.

  


* * *

  


"It seems to me, unwilling as you may be to consider this, that you not only were meant to be the Ring-bearer but also took your vow with the gravity it was due. Only through humility did you attempt to give the Ring to one you felt better suited to the task."

It was the second day of the trial, and Frodo had been brought again before the King. 

Frodo frowned. "I was charged with never letting anyone handle the Ring outside the Fellowship, and even then only at great need. I should not have offered it to Galadriel once I had been appointed Ring-bearer."

"This is a fair claim. Why, then, did you make this offer?"

Frodo hesitated. Very slowly, he spoke. "Only a short time earlier, Gandalf fell in Moria. I was uneasy, for Boromir..." He hesitated. "Boromir seemed unduly fascinated by me and what I carried. I felt safer when Gandalf was with us, but when he was lost... I realized anew that I was not strong enough for the task. But the Lady Galadriel was the bearer of one of the three elven-rings. She could understand the dangers of the Ring."

Aragorn frowned. "I know this, for you yourself told me of it before. But we will not speak of what she bears any further. Did you not think that she too could have been tempted by the One Ring?"

Frodo lowered his head. "Not at first." He fell silent. The memory of Galadriel, the terrible Queen, rose before him. With great reluctance and a slight sense of shame, he spoke again. "She made me understand that I must keep it. It could not have stayed in Lothlorien."

"If I understand the matter well, then that was the last time that you tried to pass on the responsibility of the Quest to another."

"It was the last, and only time, since I was appointed to hold it." Frodo fidgeted impatiently. "Forgive me, but I do not understand why you are asking me these things. How does it change what I did at Mount Doom?"

The change those words wrought upon the King was startling. Aragorn leaned forward and said with intensity: "Do not presume to question me, Ring-bearer. You yourself begged me not to spare you from my law. I have granted you your request. But whilst I may consent to judge you, I will do so on my own terms as is my right and privilege. And I deem that all matters leading up to your deeds at the Sammath Naur bear examination. I will not judge on partial truths."

Shocked, Frodo stepped back involuntarily, and then bowed his head in contrition. "I am sorry." He wrung his hands in anguish. "Please forgive me. I have been anxious to receive judgement, and I have chafed at what has seemed delay. I will not do so again."

"See that you do not." But the King's tone of voice was gentler. "I understand your trepidation, but I will not absolve you of your own responsibility. You must bear the passage of time and answer my questions, unwilling though you may be, until I give you my verdict."

Frodo's head remained bowed. "What would you have me do?"

"You offered the Ring only once, you said, and you were refused. I would have you lead me through your journey with the Ring from that time forth. It seems to me, from what I have learned of your story, that, other than Samwise, only two knew of your purpose and your burden once you left the Fellowship: Gollum and Lord Faramir. Is this true?"

"It is true."

"Gollum knew well that you had the Ring. Did you even once tell him of your errand?"

Frodo looked up then. "Never. I could not have done so, or it would have all been in vain. Gollum would have kept us from Mordor if he had known of my intent."

"Yet he must have desired to touch the Ring. Tell me about this."

"I did not permit any casual talk of the thing. Only twice before he left us did we speak of it at any length. The first time was when I bound him to a promise to guide us to Mordor. He insisted upon swearing by it."

Aragorn leaned forward again. "Swear by it? But you allowed him no sight of it?"

Frodo shook his head vehemently. "No. Never. That wouldn't have done at all. No. Thereafter, I spoke of it only once when he attempted to convince me to give it back to him. I warned him off." Here Frodo faltered. "I tried to make him understand the danger of the Ring. I... I knew that he was in danger of being completely lost to its power."

"Completely? You felt that there was still hope for him, even then?" Aragorn frowned. "Not many would have been of your opinion."

"No," Frodo whispered. "Sam was not. And in the end, he was more clear-sighted than I." But he could speak no further, and he looked away.

Aragorn waited somberly for a moment, but when it seemed that Frodo was not yet willing to resume, he got up from the throne. "Wait for my return," he said, not ungently. "We need not talk of Gollum any further."

Frodo watched Aragorn stride through the hall. With a ragged sigh, he sank down upon the stone steps and cradled his head upon his knees.

  


* * *

  


It was not long before Aragorn returned, but Frodo was lost within memories. It took the King's hand upon his shoulder to bring him back to the present, and he sprang up apologizing.

"Be at peace, Frodo. You have broken no protocol. Do you have need of rest?"

"No," Frodo answered firmly. "I wish to continue."

"Then we shall do so." Aragorn, remaining on the lowest step, looked at Frodo thoughtfully. "Do you believe that your deed at the Sammath Naur stood alone?"

Frodo looked back at him startled. "I don't understand your meaning."

"Usually our deeds work in concert with our actions and beliefs. There is a path that leads the way to most deeds if we can but find it. You tell me of your crime, as you put it, but I see no path. I find it passing strange that it should be so."

Frodo opened his mouth, but no words came. 

"I want to find this path. Aid me, Frodo! It seems to me that you acted wisely around Gollum, although some would call you foolish. You did not say just now, but I already knew that you spared his life even while you forbade his seeing the Ring. But I said that we would talk no more of this for now, and I will not break my word. What of Faramir, then? Tell me of your dealings with him!"

Once more Frodo was at a loss. Distressed, he shook his head almost violently. "I cannot say. The closer we come to Mordor, the more my memory fails me. I can recall only quick snatches of words, brief glimpses of events -- not enough for me to show you a... a path."

Aragorn nodded his head slowly, somberly. "There is one other who may help us. If I were to call in Faramir..."

"Yes, please!" Frodo said quickly. He looked at Aragorn in entreaty. "I wish to hear what he remembers. I... I do not want to remain unaware..."

Aragorn said not a word but went to a small silver gong which stood by the side of the throne. He struck it once, and a clear note rang out. Immediately, the door opened and a Guard of the Citadel entered. Frodo watched as Aragorn spoke not a word but instead through the briefest of hand motions communicated with the man. A moment later the Guard was gone and the door closed.

  


It was not long before Lord Faramir was bidden to enter the Hall. Once more, Aragorn was sitting on the throne, and Frodo stood on the steps to the side.

Faramir bowed before the King. "You asked for me?" 

"I did. I would ask of you some questions concerning the Ring-bearer and his journey. Do you remember your encounter with him well?"

Faramir looked at Frodo. "Very well."

"What was his intent when you spoke with him?"

"At first he would not say," said Faramir. "But once trust grew between us, he told me that it was his doom to enter Morder and to destroy the Dark Lord's ring in the Mountain of Fire."

"And did you feel that this was truly his intent, or merely a recitation of a previous command."

Faramir started forward in surprise, and then stood still. "It was his own intent. There was no dissembling. I can swear to it."

Aragorn nodded slightly. "I will take your word. It is enough. But I would understand further how Frodo spoke of the Ring to you."

Faramir gave a slightly rueful laugh. "Forgive me, my King, but he was far more cautious than I, when I pressed him hard with questions. No matter how I tried, he evaded me and would not tell me of Isildur's Bane. My eagerness to understand the matter was shown in an ill light next to his reserve. But his purpose was undone when Samwise revealed the true nature of the... heirloom."

"But Sam did not mean to do so," Frodo said quickly. "He had grown too easy in his storytelling and did not realize the danger until it was too late."

"He speaks truly," said Faramir. "But even when all was revealed, the Ring-bearer's mien did not alter. The Ring was a grave matter to him and he did not speak of it lightly."

"Is there any other thing that you may tell me," said Aragorn, "in connection to Frodo's regard of the Ring?"

Faramir frowned. "Only this: even as he turned my questions aside, he said this one thing: _It does not belong to me. It does not belong to any mortal, great or small; though if any could claim it, it would be Aragorn son of Arathorn_. I wondered at these words, for this was the first time I had heard mention of you."

Aragorn did not respond to that but turned to Frodo. "Do you have any recollection of these things?"

Frodo thought for a moment. "I remember what he said of Sam, and that he questioned me at length, but anything of detail? Or of what I said? I am sorry, but I cannot."

"He was under great duress," said Faramir. His eyes held a hint of concern. "I had grave doubts that he would be able to do what he had described. Indeed, I felt that no warrior, strong or bold, would have met with success on such a perilous journey. Nevertheless, I did not doubt his sincerity."

"I thank you, Faramir, for your words and your memories." Aragorn said after a moment of thought.

Faramir inclined his head. "Will you have further need of me?"

"No. I will not. Thank you."

"Then I will give you this brief report. The greatest of the wains are ready and will move out to Osgiliath as soon as I give word. And on the morrow, the Riders of Rohan return to Edoras. Eomer and Eowyn will be with them."

Aragorn nodded then. "Thank you, Faramir."

"My King." Faramir turned and strode away.

Aragorn turned to Frodo. "You will miss your teacher in the Houses of Healing."

"I will," said Frodo. "She has shown me great kindness. I shall be sad to see her go."

"Leave then. We have spoken enough today. Go and spend what time you may in learning under the guidance of Lady Eowyn. But tomorrow, we will meet once more before I pronounce my judgement. If there is aught that you can remember that will aid us in following your path towards the deed at Mount Doom, then think of it!"

The Guards approached the dais. Frodo bowed deeply, and was escorted from the King's presence.

  
  


To be continued.


	10. Kindred Spirits

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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LilyBaggins: I think so too. So often we read about Frodo being taken care of, but very little of his taking care of the ill in return. (Although I must say I love reading about the former... eg. stories like _A Little Affliction_...)

Aratlithiel: Thanks! For a brief time, my schedule did slow down, but it is about to speed up again. So, I am not sure when the next chapter will come out. Hopefully within a month...

Budgielover: Another lovely review! Thank you. A large part of this chapter should satisfy your request...

Nilmandra: Interesting idea: the Ring as a witness. Sadly, as you say, that is impossible.

shirebound and endymion: Sam does seem to be next in line, doesn't he...

Bookworm2000: Good point. The memory problems may not have originally occurred until he was in Mordor, but Tolkien did not say to what extent they continued after his ordeal. Perhaps more recent memories (eg. Ithilien) were more patchy in their return than older, more established ones such as those of the Shire... But I recognize that I am riding on my own interpretation here, as opposed to something Tolkien might have described...

Ariel (and Nilmandra): Thank you for your comments on the nature of the help given Frodo. That is an important aspect of his emotional journey and healing, I think.

Coriandra: Yes - he is making progress. But he still has a long way to go...

lizmybit: It seems strange that people are actually talking about my story. How flattering a thought!

Midgette: Yes. And I am half dreading the final meeting of the trial...

faervarya: Don't worry, Aragorn takes his duty very seriously and he will not forget... As for tender moments, well, I am writing book!Aragorn so I might not end up with moments as tender as you would like, but I will see what I can do. Certainly Aragorn holds Frodo in the highest esteem and cares about him greatly.

Mariole, Arathlithiel, MBradford, endymion, wanequelle, and lizmybit: Thank you for your positive comments about Faramir. I am very fond of Faramir (in the book) and even though he does not have a large part to play in this story, I worked hard on making him seem "right." 

Shireling, LanceSkoggle, tavion, Kay and ShireElf: Thank you for your very encouraging and warm reviews! 

  
  
  


Chapter 10: Kindred Spirits

  
  


They brought his bed over to the window which had been opened wide and they made him comfortable with many pillows. The afternoon sun shone strong and warm upon him, yet Frodo stood by his side and gazed down at his face sorrowfully, for the man still lay lost in evil dreams.

"How is he?" Frodo asked of the man standing beside him.

"Much better in body, my lord, since you tended to his wound. It no longer frets him as it did before."

Frodo smiled a little awkwardly. "I would prefer it if you were to simply call me Frodo. I am no lord, neither here nor in my own land."

"Then I will do so. I am called Tenegold."

Frodo bowed. "You have a great love for your captain. How did he come to such an evil state?"

Tenegold frowned. "It has been a slow and gradual process. Do not think he is weak, for he has dealt with more than men are made for, and I am thankful that I was not asked to endure the same." He fell into a reverie for a moment.

Frodo, sensing a need for his presence, climbed up onto the neighbouring window sill. Tenegold leaned against the stone wall. He spoke again.

"The City was under siege, and the Enemy had brought a terrible machine up to the very Gate. My company was fighting to keep the enemy from the Walls if the evil chance should fall that the Gate should be broken. The knights of Dol Amroth fought with us and together we were valiant! But my captain was the greatest of us all and he slew orcs until they were piled about his feet. But all was to no avail, for when the hideous machine -- a great ram -- was set to the Gate, a terror came that none of us could stand."

He stopped speaking, and trembled.

"If you don't wish to speak of it---" said Frodo, but the man shook his head.

"It is better to," he said. He breathed deeply and calmed himself. "They say that it was the Lord of the Nazgul; the Witch King of Angmar---" He broke off once more. "Are you all right, Frodo?" He looked at him with concern.

"I am all right," Frodo answered with difficulty. He took his hand away from his left shoulder. "Please continue."

Dubiously, Tenegold nodded slowly. "I have heard the tale in turn from those who heard it on the Field of Cormallen. Truly, you suffered a grave hurt from the Lord of the Nazgul. But forgive me. I see that the memory of it still lies heavy upon you. I will speak of your tale no longer."

"When the foul wraith came nigh, few of us could move. Those that could dropped their swords and ran, so great was their fear. But our captain stood between the Gate and the Black Horseman, and he would not let it pass. And when the men saw him, they took heart and did not run. But then the Wraith spoke thrice, the great ram swung thrice -- and on the third assay the Gate burst asunder with such a force that no-one could have foreseen. Alas! All those near the Gate were caught in the fury and were gravely wounded. Many were killed. I too was struck by debris but chance favoured me and, with effort, I soon could stand once more. But my Captain was thrown to the very feet of the Lord of the Nazgul."

Tenegold stopped and came out of his memory to see Frodo watching him in horrid fascination.

"What happened then?" Frodo whispered.

Tenegold looked down at his captain and put a hand gently on his shoulder. "The Nazgul laughed, a ghastly sound! and strode forward, over his very body. Once more, all was stillness, all waited, until Mithrandir came. Ah, Mithrandir!" He closed his eyes. "In all our terror, it was a grand thing to see. The Nazgul could not pass. And then, in that moment, we all harkened to the horns of the Riders of Rohan. At last, at last! We had a chance." Tenegold opened his eyes then and looked directly at Frodo. "But we could no longer fight. Those such as I who could move took up our wounded and retreated into the City."

He paused and held out his arms. "As you can see, my wounds have knitted well. Indeed, they would have bid me to leave these Houses were it not for my Captain. From the very moment he was brought here, he has lain in a dark dream. It was not until the King came and laid healing hands upon his body that he could awaken. But when he learned of the great numbers of our company who died in the breaking of the Gate, he could only blame himself. If others had not taken heart by his example and stayed when they had the chance to flee, they would have been still living. When faced with this seeming truth, he sunk back down into fevers and guilt-ridden dreams."

"But he could not have known!" said Frodo, upset.

"No, he could not have known," said Tenegold softly. "No one could have known of such an explosion. Truly that ram was laid with evil spells. Yet he lies here still. He does not die, but it seems he cannot live. His hurts do not heal, for he thrashes about when fey moods take him. But he knows my voice and my touch, even as he rejects all others." He smiled sadly. "When he called you a foul thing this morning, he did not know who you were. But in his dreams, the Lord of the Nazgul haunts him still."

  


* * *

  


Eowyn found Frodo later, once all needed work was done, sitting alone in his room.

"I heard that you were talking with Tenegold," she said, and sat down beside him.

"Yes," said Frodo. "He told me of what had happened to his company and his captain during the battle."

Eowyn sighed. "I too heard of that tale."

"Can there be nothing done for him?" asked Frodo. "It seems that there is no hope left."

She shook her head. "I do not know. The healers tend him day and night, but he is lost within himself. If there is aught that can be done -- I cannot say." She picked up Frodo's right hand then and began to work upon it.

Frodo watched her silently for a moment. Even as his fingers relaxed, and warmth stole through his hand, his thoughts turned towards the Nazgul and he shuddered. 

"Did you not also suffer hurt from the Witch King?" he asked. "You told me of such an encounter, but I do not know what happened."

"I did," she said, and stayed her work upon his hand. "And I have not told you of it for I thought that it might give you distress. Do you wish to hear it?"

"I do now," said Frodo. "You see, until recently I thought myself alone in my misfortune with the Nazgul, but no longer do I think so."

"No, you are not, except in one way. For you are the only one the Nazgul sought. But perhaps we shared some kind of chance fate. For we both faced it, and fought it. It need not matter that you did not kill it! You defied it and that played no small part in its future downfall."

And so Eowyn told Frodo her story, even as she continued to work upon his hand. And if during the telling, her ministrations took a little longer or were more intense than was strictly necessary, neither she nor Frodo saw need to mention it. Indeed, once she had finished, Frodo was so moved that he found it within himself to tell her of his ill-fated encounter at Weathertop, and his flight to the Ford of Bruinen.

He found Eowyn to be an attentive and careful audience, one who did not ply him with questions or make unneedful comments. And as he talked on, the fellow-feeling grew strong within them both to the point where Frodo grieved even more at the thought of her departure on the morrow.

When he told her of this, she smiled sadly. "Yes. I feel it too. But perhaps there is someone else who would understand you if you wished to talk of your evil memories. Your kinsman Meriadoc too has fought the Nazgul, and would, no doubt, be glad to share your burden, as perhaps you could his."

"Merry," whispered Frodo. "I had forgotten. But he seemed so sure and unplagued by worries -- it seemed unlikely that he would need comfort. Yet he may! And what about you?"

Eowyn laughed then, a clear and delightful sound. "Do not fear for me! For when I return to Minas Tirith, I shall have Lord Faramir. Although I shall miss you, Frodo. But I hope to see you once more if perchance you come through Rohan on your journey home. If you come, and I have yet to return to Gondor, I shall take great pleasure in showing you my country and hosting you in the Golden Hall."

Frodo got up and bowed. "If I can, I shall come. I would not miss it if I were to have any choice in my route home."

"Then come and bid me farewell on the morrow, and if we have the good chance to have one further meeting, we shall delight in it!"

  


* * * 

  


"Are you that sure you know where his house is?" Sam said skeptically as Pippin once more paused to look down a side street.

Pippin flapped his hands impatiently to quieten Sam. "Of course I do. I am just thinking, that's all."

"He doesn't remember," said Merry drily. "All that time to yourself in the City, and you still can't make your way around."

"I was on duty," Pippin said loftily. "I had more important things to do than to remember where I was on only one occasion!"

"So you don't remember where it is!" said Sam.

Pippin looked at him, a look of long suffering etched on his face. Suddenly he brightened. "Ah, Beregond! We were just on our way to you."

"We were?" asked Merry, and got a sharp elbow in his ribs.

"If you were, then you got yourself turned around," said Beregond chuckling. "It is back the way you came."

"Oh," said Pippin, crestfallen.

"Never mind," said Beregond. "The children are waiting for you and they are quite excited."

Pippin smiled. And once more they were on their way. 

  


* * *

  


The tree towered over him, and he could hear the wind thrumming through the branches as he pressed himself against the trunk and out of sight of the Houses. Fellen had agonized over abandoning his group of friends who were, no doubt, meeting the hobbits at Bergil's house at this very moment. Was the Ring-bearer going to that meeting? Fellen did not know the answer, but the perian _had_ said that he would be in the Garden around this time. Yet he was not here. And even though Fellen's punishment was ended and he was no longer confined to his level of the city, the boy knew that it was quite likely his freedom would be curtailed once more if his parents were to learn of his coming to the sixth level of the City.

The bark of the tree was rough and thick, and he could feel it creasing his cheek. But he could not move, for now he could hear footsteps on a path and unfamiliar voices. He shrank even closer to the tree and hoped that the intruders would pass by without noticing.

Pass by they did, and once they were gone, Fellen cautiously looked around the tree. Suddenly his heart leapt for joy, for he could see Frodo walking slowly out into the gardens.

Fellen dashed out from the safety of the tree, but no sooner than he had gone a few steps, Frodo looked towards him. The Ring-bearer seemed to sense that the trees offered welcome cover to the boy, for he changed his direction and drew nigh.

"You came!" said Fellen.

  


* * *

  


"Right then," said Sam. "Manrim, is it? You just stand there next to Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin, and we shall see."

With a grin, Manrim scrambled to his feet and stood next to the two hobbits. "I am taller!" he cried happily.

"Only by an inch," said Telgan dismissively.

"Looks like we'll have to visit Treebeard again," said Pippin in an undertone to Merry, "if we're to keep our hero status among these young folk..."

Alnoth's sharp ears caught his whisper. "Who's Treebeard? Is he somebody you fought?"

"Goodness, no!" said Merry surprised and more than a little shocked. "He's an Ent."

"An Ent? What is an Ent? Can we fight it?"

Merry looked helplessly at the other two.

"No," said Sam firmly. "I've never met him, and from what I've heard, I wouldn't want to be making him angry. 'Tisn't safe."

"Besides," said Pippin, "there's been enough fighting what with orcs and trolls and Nazgul."

"Ooooh," whispered four children. All eyes were firmly fixed on Pippin. "Tell us about the Nazgul," said Felnor.

Pippin hesitated and looked at Merry.

"No thanks," said Merry. "But you tell them about that troll you killed. That's one for the storybooks!"

"It is indeed," said Sam. "I wouldn't mind hearing about that again."

Pippin grinned happily. "All right, if you insist." His voice lowered confidentially. "I am not going to tell you all about our trip to the gates of Mordor. That was horrible stuff, and I don't even want to think about it. But, that troll... well... all you lot know how short we hobbits are. But do you know how big trolls are? You do? Well, then, you can certainly imagine what would happen if one of those great ugly beasts were to land on top of you after you had smitten it with your sword..."

  


* * * 

  


They sat in a small secluded niche set in the wall, hidden from most eyes by the trees between them and the Houses, and by bushes and flowers about them. Frodo had thought to sit on the Wall once more, or perhaps amongst the trees, but Fellen earnestly begged him to come to this nook, away from chance encounter.

With a small but gentle smile, Frodo willingly followed, and now the two were hidden, comfortably settled with their backs against the stones.

At first Frodo waited, wishing to give Fellen a chance if the boy indeed wanted to ask questions of him. But when no questions were forthcoming, Frodo looked at him, puzzled.

"Why aren't you with the other children? Aren't they meeting the other hobbits now?"

Fellen looked quite astonished that Frodo should ask this. "I wanted to meet you," he said. "You are the Ring-bearer."

Frodo winced.

"I'm sorry!" said Fellen, aghast. "Shouldn't I have said that?"

"No, no, it's all right," Frodo said quickly, ashamed of himself.

Fellen frowned, and earnestly said, "You aren't like the other Pheriannath. You seem so sad. I have wondered why." Then, quickly, "But I haven't said anything to anyone!"

Frodo looked at him in mute surprise. Cautiously, he smiled. "Thank you."

Fellen smiled back, a broad and happy grin. But then it faded. "Why are you so unhappy," he asked hesitantly. "You threw down the Dark Lord. Did he hurt you?"

Once again Frodo was at a loss for words. At last he said with difficulty, "I suppose he did."

"Oh." Fellen didn't quite know how to take this unexpected and straightforward answer. "Is that why you are here, at the Houses of Healing?"

"Partly," said Frodo, wondering anxiously what direction the boy's questions would turn to next. But Fellen sensed his mood

"I am asking too many questions, aren't I," he said, downcast.

"Perhaps a little," Frodo admitted. "But I don't mind. However, I'd rather not talk about why I am here, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Fellen said, eager to agree to anything the Ring-bearer might want. "But I would like you to be my friend," he added, a little wistfully.

A little dazed, Frodo wondered briefly if this child were sent by the Healers, or perhaps Aragorn, or even Sam. But no sooner had that thought occurred to him than it vanished. The boy's questions were honest and unfeigned.

"All right," he said, touched by the boy's simple request. "But on two conditions," he added, a little sternly.

Fellen's eyes widened and he nodded vigorously.

"One: that you call me Frodo."

The boy nodded again. "Frodo," he whispered.

"And two: that you don't treat me like a hero. All right?"

"But you are a hero," objected Fellen. "Everybody knows it."

Frodo sighed. "Maybe, but I don't feel like a hero, and..." he trailed off. Fellen sat there, expectantly waiting. Frodo sighed again. "Look, I am going to tell you something. I made a great mistake and I almost hurt many people. So, you see, I am not a hero. I helped throw down the Dark Lord, yes. But it wasn't only me. Sam is a bigger hero than I am. And Merry and Pippin helped save Minas Tirith. Really, they are more important."

"But you didn't _want_ to hurt anybody, right?" asked Fellen perplexed.

"Well, no, I didn't."

"And you actually went into Mordor, right? You _chose_ to go into Mordor."

"I did," Frodo admitted.

"But _nobody_ wants to go to Mordor. You went there to throw the Ring into the Fire. I heard the story."

"I wanted to do that..."

"But _nobody_ wanted to go there! You wanted to help all of us, so you went there!" Fellen was upset. "Only a hero would do that! You might have been killed."

Shocked and dismayed, Frodo stared at the boy who was on the verge of tears. He had said too much, even as he thought that he was saying little.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I suppose you are right, from the way you see it. All right then, I won't say I'm not a hero. But if you want to be my friend, then please don't treat me like a hero. It is too uncomfortable. Just treat me like a friend. All right?"

"All right," said Fellen. Hesitantly, he smiled through his tears. "No wonder you are sad if you always think about your mistake. I am always making mistakes, but I don't want to think about them."

Suddenly Frodo laughed -- a small sound in the beginning, but it grew as he gave himself over to mirth. He felt such relief in being accepted as other than a hero. Fellen joined in, hesitant at first, but soon he was giggling with abandon.

"Oh dear," Frodo said, wiping his eyes. "Yes, I think we shall be good friends. All right then, friend, what would you like to do?"

Fellen jumped to his feet. "There is something I want to show you."

Frodo stood. "Where is it?"

"On the third level. But I know ways that will take us there quickly. You needn't go by the road!"

"Ah," said Frodo, a little disappointed. "I cannot leave the Houses of Healing. I have promised that I will stay here until they give me leave to go."

"That's all right," said Fellen. "I can show you later."

Frodo smiled. "I shall look forward to it then."

  
  
  


To be continued.


	11. The Choice

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

  


Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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shirebound: No, it isn't over yet (grin) - but it *is* nearing the end... 

Anora: I already have some half-formed ideas concerning that, but we'll see. It will need to "fit."

Aratlithiel1: Certainly! Extra points to you!

lizmybit: I know. It is awful, isn't it. And this chapter has taken a great deal out of me...

Ancalime8301: I agree. Telling stories, and having one's voice heard, is of great importance.

wanequelle: Yes, Merry too... although I do think that he has kept his "hobbit resiliency" much more than Frodo has been able to...

boromir: I'm sorry, but a detailed discussion of events with Boromir wasn't needed, and wouldn't really fit in the story at this point. Both Aragorn and Frodo referred to him, though – he certainly wasn't forgotten!

aelfgifu: "You have the hobbits down to perfection." Wow. Thank you!

Ariel3: Thank you so much for your kind words. I have loved storytelling for as long as I can remember. I hope that I can live up to your comments now!

shireling: Subtlety is an ideal that I strive for, but not always reach. Thank you!

GamgeeFest: What a lovely review! Thank you! And your assumption was quite right, as you will see...

endymion2: I too am a little nervous about the amount of fighting that seems to be in store for ROTK. Helm's Deep was more than enough for me... I can tell you now, that that war scene at the beginning of last chapter was the first and last one for this story! But it served an important purpose...

Kit5: I am so glad that you returned to the story and that you still enjoyed it!

Ailsa Joy: Welcome! Hobbits as celebrities... *chuckle* Next thing, they'll be enlisting Gimli as their agent...

Budgielover: Sometimes I wonder if the hobbits have permanent cricks in their necks while in Gondor...

Silver Flame of a Phoenix: (blush) Thank you for your lovely review! I hope this chapter lives up to your words... (And I liked that you felt there was still a touch of Strider in Aragorn still. After all, as he himself said, in TTT, "he has never been away.")

mena: Thank you for your email review -- yes, I have wanted to convincingly extrapolate while being faithful to canon. It is a fine line to walk, and especially so in this new chapter...

MBradford; Nilmandra: I'm glad that you liked Fellen and the other children. They are a necessary counterbalance to both the story and to Frodo's angst... 

Pebbles; Nivina; ShireElf; Bookworm2000; Kit5: I'm sorry this chapter took so long. "Real life" had me in its relentless grip for more than a month, but now I have returned. I plan to get the next chapter out within the next 2 weeks...

  
  
  


**Chapter 11: The Choice**

  
  


Merry poked thoughtfully at the small pile of seedlings closest to him. "Tell me again what this is for?" he asked. "It's too soon for you to start collecting for our journey home, isn't it?"

"It is," said Sam. He carefully rolled another pile of seedlings into a dampened old rag. "Mr. Frodo's suggestion the other day got me thinking."

"Oh? About what?"

"He thought that the healers would let me have some of these to take home. But I wouldn't know how to take care of them -- there is nothing like them in the Shire! But Mr. Beregond said yesterday that his wife knew all about these flowers. And she, meaning his wife that is, said that she'd teach me how best to make them grow."

"That was kind of her!" said Merry. "When are you going to have your first lesson?"

Sam hesitated. "This afternoon. I don't want to be gone in case Mr. Frodo's not busy, but I..."

At that moment, Pippin stuck his head around the door to the house. He was slightly breathless, and he tugged his tunic smooth. The stars and the tree of the livery of the Tower Guard gleamed silver. "Sam, do you have a minute? The King wants to talk to you."

Sam stood up hastily. "Mr. Strider? What would he want with me?"

Pippin shook his head. "I don't know. But he is waiting for you."

Sam looked at him in confusion. "Just me? What about Mr. Merry."

"Just you. Come on, Sam."

The two hobbits left, and the door slammed. Merry put down the plant that he had been holding and brushed his hands clean. "It will be about Frodo, Sam," he said softly to himself.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Aragorn was not, as Sam had expected, in the Hall of Kings. For this, he was rather glad, as the long hall with its high ceiling and gloomy pillars both awed and overwhelmed him. It was too grand for the likes of him, he felt, and so he was relieved to see Aragorn sitting in the courtyard to the front of the Citadel. The green of the grass was rich in the morning sun.

"Thank you, Peregrin. You may go now," Aragorn said.

Pippin obeyed with alacrity, yet Sam could see a hint of reluctance in the hobbit's bearing as he left. Paying it no more mind, Sam looked at Aragorn.

"Pippin said you were wanting to see me, sir."

"Yes. Thank you for coming, Sam, although I fear Pippin brought you here with greater urgency than was needed."

"So, nothing is wrong then, is it, sir?"

Aragorn smiled. "No, nothing is wrong, Sam. But I had you brought here for a purpose. I wish to ask you about your journeys with Frodo, for I want to understand what happened in Mordor."

"Is this about the trial, then?" said Sam warily. "I don't feel right talking about it without Mr. Frodo being here, and that's a fact."

"Sit down, Sam," Aragorn said. Sam sat. "You are quite right to be concerned for your master. But I have reasons for wishing to talk to you privately."

Suddenly Sam's face cleared. "I understand. It would be too hard on Mr. Frodo if he were here. Wouldn't it. You want to spare him from having to listen to your questioning of me. Is that right, sir?"

"That is one of the reasons, yes," the King admitted.

Sam said unhappily, "But won't he feel that not everything is quite fair, going around behind his back and all?"

Aragorn frowned. "I have considered his feelings, Sam. And I promise you that I will give him the choice. However, unless Frodo requests it, I will not expect you to be present."

"Well, all right then," said Sam doubtfully. "Best to get it over with. I trust you, sir, although there are those I wouldn't."

Aragorn looked at him gravely. "Then I will do my best to keep your trust."

Sam got up then and bowed. "Forgive me my impertinence, sir, but, you see, Mr. Frodo needs all my help, and I won't have him hurt by anything you or I might say. Though I will tell you only the truth!" he added hastily. He sat down again, his cheeks red.

"I do not seek to trap you, or Frodo, Samwise," said the King softly. "I would not abuse your loyalty. Frodo wishes me to judge him and I will do so. And fairly -- only thus will I consider all that you have to say."

Sam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "What was it that you wanted to ask me, then?"

  
  


* * *

  
  


As was done twice before, guards brought Frodo to the Citadel. This time, however, Frodo was refused entrance, for the sentries explained that the King was busy with some sudden affair and could not be disturbed. However, they bid the Ring-bearer to wait in the courtyard until the King Elessar should call for him.

"It will not be long," they said, "and you have no need of extra guard. We shall answer for you." And so the two guards that had brought Frodo hither were excused.

Frodo knelt upon the grassy sward that enclosed the pool and the fountain. Little did he realize that Aragorn and Sam had sat there but a short time ago, and he looked up at the grey dead tree that was above him. He knew the significance of the tree, for Pippin had told him, but as he watched the listless shedding of drops from the dark, down-turned branches, such a symbol seemed no longer to speak for the Kingdom of Gondor. No, not the Kingdom, Frodo thought. Something else.

As he waited, he slowly opened and closed his right hand. He looked at it with distaste, for it seemed to him as if he were not to be allowed to let it lie hidden. He was surrounded by those who felt they must hold it, touch it, force him to use it. Only that young boy with whom he had talked, yesterday, did not seem concerned with it at all. Frodo longed to return to that gentle moment hidden amongst the stones and plants of the garden. He wondered, uneasily, if he had been right to promise another meeting with the lad, for he did not know what lay ahead of him, past the coming judgement. Yet the boy's enthusiasm had been welcome and, in spite of himself, Frodo had desired to see whatever the boy had wanted to show him.

"May I join you?"

Startled, Frodo looked up and saw Gandalf. Without waiting for an answer, the wizard settled down upon the grass, and gazed at Frodo solemnly.

"The Lady Eowyn left the city this morning."

"Yes," Frodo answered. "I was there to see her go."

"It seemed to me that you two understood one another," Gandalf said mildly.

"We did," Frodo admitted. "A friend unlooked for, but now she is gone. The Houses seem empty without her."

Gandalf shifted and resettled. "I thought that I might come and join you for your audience with the King today. That is if you will have me."

Frodo looked at him in surprise. "Why do you ask me? It isn't my choice. Even if it were, I wouldn't say no to you."

Gandalf shook his head gently. "It is your choice. At the very least where I am concerned." He sighed then. "I bear a certain responsibility in starting you out on your adventure, and it seems fitting that I should be with you today. This is the last time the King will hear you, is it not?"

"It is." But Frodo could speak no further, for the guards called for him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


If the King was surprised to see Gandalf enter with Frodo, he made no sign of it. Instead, he walked down the steps of the dais to await them there.

"Before we begin, Frodo," he said. "I would ask you a question."

Frodo stopped and stood still, wondering.

"Although I have told you that you must abide by my methods in this matter," Aragorn said, "I will make one allowance if you desire it."

Puzzled, Frodo waited.

"Sam's witness is also needed."

"Sam..." said Frodo, regretfully. "Of course, it must be so. But it will hurt him -- I know it will -- if he must say anything against me."

"It seemed to me that you would say this, and I share your concern. Indeed I have already questioned him and am content that I know as much as is needed. And so I will give you the choice. I could have him brought here and he could be questioned in front of you, or you may accept my account of his words."

Frodo seized upon Aragorn's offer. "Your account! He would not have to endure being questioned under my scrutiny. He could not bear to be put under such pressure."

"If you are content to not be witness to that which was spoken, then I will do as you ask."

"I am content."

Aragorn turned then, mounted the steps and sat. Gandalf moved to the side.

"Have you, Frodo, thought over our words of yesterday as I charged you?"

"I have."

"Do you then have anything further that could be brought to bear on the matter?"

"Only this one thing," Frodo answered, "that I was entrusted with the Ring and the Quest. You said that you believe I was the one most suitable for the task. Yet I failed. I was the best choice, according to you, and I failed. I knew that the Ring was not mine and that I had no right to claim it, even up to the point of Ithilien. Yet I still took it for my own purposes. I cannot see that I am anything but guilty."

"Those," said Aragorn softly, "who entrusted you with the Quest understood the overwhelming difficulty of the task; that it was most probably beyond your ability to carry out."

"If they had felt that it was beyond my ability to carry out, why did they, why did _you_ let me be burdened with it?" 

"We let you take on the Quest for among all the evil choices it was the one that offered the only hope. You were there, Frodo. You knew, as well as we did, that it was truly our only choice. And while I say that we suspected it would be beyond your ability to finish the deed, we knew for certain that it would be impossible for all others to attempt it."

Frodo shook his head. "An evil choice among others."

Aragorn frowned. "All choices were evil, Frodo. You cannot claim any especial ownership for yourself. Enough. We have already talked of this and it serves no purpose to revisit it." 

The King regarded Frodo then and did not say a word. Although the Ring-bearer flushed beneath the gaze, he did not look away. Long did they hold each other in their regard, but if either could read the other's thoughts, they did not show it. The King's face was impassive, but the Ring-bearer's was not. Whatever his thoughts may have been, his emotions were manifest in the very set of his mouth, and the angle of his brows. 

At last, Aragorn spoke. "The choice was made. But do you recall your own words when you made your vow? You pledged only to take the Ring to Mount Doom. You did not promise to destroy it. 'I will take the Ring,' you said, 'though I do not know the way.' Do you remember this?"

"I remember it," Frodo said. His voice was low and tight. "But such words do not serve to excuse me. The mission was to destroy it. To cast it into the fires of Mt. Doom. May I remind _you_ of Lord Elrond's words: 'We must send the Ring to the Fire.' Why was the Fellowship formed if not for that very purpose? Upon me alone was any charge laid, Elrond said. Companions were given to help me, but not to relieve me of my burden."

Frodo looked away then, and strode about for a moment, for he was too agitated to be still. At last he faced Aragorn again. "By leaving the Fellowship at the feet of Amon Hen, I renewed my commitment to destroy the Ring. I was the only one left. Even though Sam chose to come with me, his own promise was to help me. We both knew that that was his only role. He had no further responsibility while I was still alive."

Aragorn leaned forward then, and laid his hands upon his knees. "Then let us talk of responsibility. Let us return to the path about which we spoke yesterday. Up to the very borders of Mordor did you intend to destroy the Ring. Faramir said it. What of Mordor, then. What was your intent? How did your journey unfold?"

"I cannot remember!" said Frodo, anguished. "I cannot show you this path. Last night I thought and thought until I felt I would go mad."

"Be at ease, Frodo! I understand your trouble and thought that you might say this. So, then, let the voice of Sam speak for you!"

Frodo's shoulders slumped a little then, and he nodded wearily. "Please," he said.

"Samwise," the King said, "gave great importance to these words, and was particular in their phrasing. 'I have to go on trying to get to the Mountain, as long as I can move.' You said those words after you were delivered from the Orcs in Cirith Ungol. He firmly declared that it was your intent to destroy it, and that you had that intent even to the slopes of Mt. Doom."

"Even to the slopes of Mount Doom," Frodo said softly. "That long, was it?"

Aragorn looked at him sharply. "You remember, then, what happened?"

Frodo shook his head. "Details? What I said? No, I do not. But there is more than words and details... and timing... to a memory."

"Sam," Aragorn continued carefully, "also feared that you had given up hope completely. Nevertheless, you did not sway in your resolve during the journey itself." He paused. "Do you wish to deny his words?"

"No," Frodo whispered. "I do not."

"Do your memories, such as they are, help you understand what intent you had on your journey to Mount Doom?"

Frodo looked at Aragorn in dread. "Do not ask me to tell you of them," he said, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"I would not ask you, Ring-bearer, if I felt that your account was unneeded. But now we have come to the Sammath Naur itself. Are you prepared to talk of this?"

"If I must."

"Did you truly expect that you'd be able to throw the Ring into the Fire?"

Frodo stood silent, as if taken aback by the simplicity, and bluntness, of the question. His gaze became distant.

Aragorn watched him closely and spoke with great deliberation. "If answering what I ask of you proves to be too great a task, Frodo, I charge you to say 'nay, we shall not speak of this,' and we will end it now. The matter will be closed. But if this should be so, I will not give judgement. Do you understand?"

Frodo said, with difficulty, "I understand." He fell silent again.

Aragorn waited. When no more was forthcoming, he asked, "Do we continue?"

Finally, Frodo nodded -- a reluctant, vague motion.

"I ask you again. Did you expect that you would have been able to cast the Ring into the Fire?"

Silence fell. The only thing to be heard was Frodo's breathing -- harsh and laboured.

"If you would permit me to speak..." Gandalf said. Frodo looked up startled, as if he had forgotten the wizard's presence. Warily, he watched him as if he were unsure that Gandalf would help or hinder. The King inclined his head in assent.

"Do you remember, Frodo, the day you tried to cast the Ring into your fire, at Bag End?"

"Yes," he said cautiously.

"Were you able to destroy it then?"

"No," he said. "I couldn't."

"Sam," Aragorn said, "told me of how twice you spoke violently to him when he offered to help you carry the Ring. You had grown possessive, and could not bear for him to touch it. Do you remember this?"

"It is true. I remember it -- not what I said, but what I felt."

"Furthermore, he told me of these words -- words you said to him on the last approach to Mount Doom: 'I am almost in its power now. I could not give it up, and if you tried to take it I should go mad.'"

Frodo shifted upon his feet. "I believe him."

"Frodo," and here Aragorn's voice grew stronger, "you could not bring yourself to hurt the thing in your own home, when you were not in danger, and had not been wandering in the wild for many months. How, then, do you account for your belief that you could do such a thing at the end of your journey, when you yourself had admitted that you could not give it up?"

Frodo's voice was so low that Aragorn had to strain to hear it.

"I never believed that I could destroy the Ring."

"Yet you implied at the beginning of this meeting that you had intended to destroy it."

"I intended for it to be destroyed. I was given eight companions. When we set out from Rivendell, I thought that at least a few would have been left to me when we reached the Mountain. In that case, I thought that I could bring the Ring to the Fire, but that another could take it from me and throw it in."

Aragorn considered this for a moment. "And you would have accepted having the Ring taken from you, even for the purpose of having it destroyed? Given the words spoken thus far, I find that difficult to believe."

"You do not need to do so. I wouldn't have accepted it and I knew it. As Gandalf told me that day in the Shire, I would have gone mad."

"You speak in riddles. Speak more plainly."

Frodo looked at Aragorn almost pityingly -- an odd look, for tears were standing in his eyes.

"I am only a small hobbit, my King. You, Gandalf, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli - you all were far stronger than I. For one of you to hold me down while another took the Ring would have been no great matter..."

"But you would have gone mad."

"I would have."

Silence fell. Aragorn looked to Gandalf, but the wizard had closed his eyes. Slowly, carefully, Aragorn relaxed his hands.

With an even and steady voice, he said, "but when you reached the Cracks of Doom, you had only Sam. As worthy a companion as he was, was he capable of wresting the Ring from you by force? Could he have taken the place of the other companions in your plan?"

Frodo laughed then, a bitter sound. "Sam? Never. Even if he could have brought himself to do it, I would have fought him. By that time, I would have killed him, if it were possible for me to do so. No. Not Sam."

"And so we return to your original promise at the Council," Aragorn said. "You vowed to take the Ring to Mount Doom but you did not say you would destroy it. As much as you protested my reminding you of those words, it seems that that was your true intent. You never believed that you yourself could destroy it. And in the end, you couldn't. Why then do you talk of failure?"

"Why do I talk of failure?" Frodo said. "I didn't fail when I chose not to give up the Ring. No, not at all. I had one more plan."

He stopped for a moment, as if to catch his breath. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

"No. I had one more plan - something which Sam never knew -- for I knew that he would not have been able to help me. If I were to reach the Sammath Naur, still bearing the Ring, I still would have one more choice. If I could not have given the Ring up, I could have at least thrown myself, along with it, into the Fire!"

Frodo's voice had risen. Now he strode up the steps, forgetting himself in his grief. "Now do you understand why I talk of failure? I still had one more choice! I meant to have the Ring destroyed, by destroying myself. I had that choice. And it was cruel of me, for I would have left Sam to die alone, amongst the ruin of Mordor. But it was my choice, and I would have helped to save the West. All of you were depending on me, and I knew it!"

"But I gave in. The Ring was already precious to me. But I still had some measure of free will and I was ready to use it. I had that choice! But I chose not to do what I had come to do... and I claimed the cursed thing for my own."

Aragorn stirred. "And then Gollum came."

"And then Gollum came." Frodo's voice sank down to near its normal level, although harshness remained. "And the Ring was destroyed. I was happy then, for even though I had failed, I was relieved that the Ring was gone, and I was grateful that I could rest at last. Death seemed fitting both as reward and as punishment. And I was grateful that Sam would not be alone at the end."

"But then we were rescued. And I learned that I was expected to live. At first it was a sweet relief, but soon I came to realize that there was no such thing. I had cheated death, and wrongfully." Frodo shook his head slowly. "At first I thought that I was free of the Ring. It had been destroyed. But the more time went by, the more I wondered. It was just a hint at first, an unconscious feeling of missing something, but soon it was unmistakable. How foolish could I have been? To think that I could have walked away so easily? And it helped me realize that I had no right to be here. Soon everything served to remind me of my guilt. The Ring was gone, but so too was a part of me. I wished that I had perished in the Fire. I knew not what else I could do. I have wanted, even, to talk about the Ring, think about it, describe to someone how it felt to finally submit -- to tell them of the overwhelming relief in giving myself to its will... But how could I talk of such things to anyone? How could anyone want to hear such horrible words, and how could they bear to look at such a person as myself, who has shown such a ...perverted weakness?"

Frodo brandished his right hand. "This hand, that you have had so carefully tended, is the sign of my failure! Because I failed in my last choice, the Ring had to be taken from me by force, by Gollum. But for him, and because of me, the West was nearly brought to ruin! I failed. And I want to be punished."

His hand dropped to his side. "I need to be punished," he whispered. And then the Ring-bearer broke down and wept bitterly.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A long time passed. It was only when the Ring-bearer at last managed to regain a semblance of his composure did the King stir.

"You have spoken of terrible things today. Had I not deemed it necessary, I would not have pressed you. But you have spoken truthfully and now you have no more responsibility in the weighing of this matter. Go now and rest, for the trial is over. On the morrow, we shall meet for the last time, for then I shall give you my judgement, and I shall mete out such punishment as I see fitting."

Aragorn looked to Gandalf then. "If you are willing, I would have Frodo be taken back to the Houses of Healing and given over to the Healers there. Later, if he should wish it, he may have whatever companions he should ask for. But he may not work among the sick for the rest of the day. I do not think it wise."

Gandalf came up to the top of the steps. "I am willing." He put his hand lightly upon Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo turned silently, obediently. Slowly, wizard and halfling walked down the steps and out through the avenue of kings.

  
  
  


To be continued


	12. The Judgement

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.  
  
Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.  
  
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To all reviewers: I have received such an outpouring of warm and supportive reviews for the last chapter. I must tell you that I am both very glad, grateful, and relieved, for Chapter 11 was a crucial part of this story. I am very glad to know that it held up under the scrutiny of so many who love the Lord of the Rings and know it (and its characters) very well. Indeed, that is the test of a fanfiction writer: can he or she satisfy an audience who knows the characters (and their situations) as well as (or perhaps better than) the writer him- or herself? I hope that I may continue to meet the challenge. Thank you, to all of you!  
  
Ariel (and Gayalondiel): Just because I wrote this before you started doesn't mean you're "off the hook" : ) Everyone has their interpretation of the same material. I look forward to seeing what you might come up with if you choose to go ahead with it.  
  
Endymion and Shireling: Frodo may be past the point where he can be healed completely, but there may be some hope which can be found...  
  
FantasyFan: As you will see, some of what you mentioned is dealt with in this chapter...  
  
LilyBaggins: I am (in turn) curious to see what you think of the punishment...  
  
lotrmatrixstarwarsfan: you may have been "stingy" with reviews in the past, but you were very generous with this one. Thank you very much for your comments about "Tolkien's canon."  
  
Boromir: never fear. It takes far more than that for Frodo and Aragorn to lose their friendship.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter 12:  
  
Merry looked in cautiously. A healer (the Warden? Merry briefly wondered) had just left Frodo's room a moment ago. Inside, all was quiet.  
  
The window was open, and the sun shone warmly upon the stonework. Frodo was lying on the bed in the shadows, a damp cloth over his forehead. His eyes were closed.  
  
A chair was next to the bed, placed there, perhaps, by the healer that had just left. Merry quietly sat upon it and watched Frodo sleeping. Gandalf had told him that Frodo had had a difficult time at the trial that day. Indeed, Frodo slept as if utterly exhausted. There was no distress evident in his face, but nor was there peace.  
  
Merry watched him closely, and it seemed suddenly to him that Frodo's face was no longer familiar. The features were the same, certainly, but Merry felt as if there were years of care and worry, and pain, laid over them like a veil that had settled, and then molded itself to the very skin -- a veil which lay between them.   
  
Cautiously, Merry touched the face with the backs of his fingers. The skin was warm, and he felt comforted. His fingers told him, even if his eyes were unsure, that it was his cousin, loved and familiar from days of old, who lay before him.  
  
He was not sure how much time had passed, as he sat there watching, when the first hint of trouble appeared. It was the softest of sounds that alerted Merry, a gentle murmur that caught his attention. But it wasn't until Frodo's breathing altered its rhythm, and his forehead creased under the folded cloth, that Merry felt a sense of unease.  
  
He moved from the chair to the bed, and waited. Frodo cried out then, and Merry leaned over him. "Wake up, Frodo," he said. "Wake up." He took Frodo's hand.  
  
Merry didn't know what it was that roused his cousin -- whether it was his words, or the touch of his hand -- but Frodo sat up so abruptly that Merry was almost knocked off the bed. He did not fall, for Frodo clutched at him in his fright.  
  
"It was just a dream," Merry said. But Frodo did not let him go. And so Merry put his arms around him, as if Frodo was a small hobbit-child in need of protection from night-terrors.  
  
"It was just a dream," he said. "Perhaps if you told me about it..."  
  
Frodo's breathing slowed, but Merry could feel, through the cotton of their clothing, the quick beating of his heart.  
  
Frodo shook his head mutely, and then all energy left him. He slumped, and Merry had to resettle quickly if he were not to fall over. Frodo was limp in his arms, his head heavy on Merry's shoulder.  
  
"You had better lie back down," Merry said. As if that were a signal, Frodo seemed suddenly to become aware of his position, and he hurriedly drew back. Merry felt a slight pang of disappointment.  
  
But Frodo allowed himself to be laid back down on the bed. He had been sweating, and so Merry took the cloth that had fallen between them and gently cleaned Frodo's face.  
  
"I think you should tell me about the dream," Merry said.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes. "It was just a dream. I'd rather not talk about it."  
  
"I think you should," Merry said bluntly. He rubbed his right arm, wincing slightly.  
  
"Does it ache?" Frodo asked, suddenly distressed.  
  
"Only sometimes," Merry answered hastily, "and it is improving. It is not like it was! The memories are worse. Don't worry about me, Frodo! It has been a bother, but it will be fine."  
  
"The memories are worse? I had never thought," Frodo said reflectively, "that you might still be troubled by them -- but Lady Eowyn said that it might be so. I have found it difficult to think of others lately."  
  
"You have been rather pre-occupied," Merry said, but he smiled to take any sting from his words. "If a mildly aching arm is what I get from all of this, then I believe that I've been quite lucky."  
  
"I don't like to think," said Frodo, with some intensity, "that any one else should have to endure such horror. Least of all, you."  
  
Merry turned away then. He found it difficult to speak. But Frodo's voice continued, more softly behind him. "If you should ever want to talk about it, what happened, I will listen. I will understand."  
  
"I know you will," Merry said thickly. "And that is why I have never wanted to talk to you about it." He turned back again to see Frodo gazing at him, eyes a little too bright. "And I certainly shan't talk about it to you now! Not today. But," and here his voice dropped a little, "one day, perhaps. When we both can talk to each other, freely."  
  
Frodo smiled then, weakly, but gratefully. "One day then." He closed his eyes.  
  
Very gently, Merry removed the cloth from Frodo's forehead and dipped it in the bowl of water which stood on the bed-side table. He wrung it out and then replaced it.  
  
"Do you have a headache?" he asked.  
  
Frodo's eyes remained closed. "I do. A little," he said. "But I suspect that the healers were more concerned with calming me down." He shifted a little, self-consciously. "I was... not myself when Gandalf brought me back."  
  
Merry frowned. "How much longer must you go through this? I am not sure that this is doing you any good."  
  
Frodo sat up abruptly then. The cloth fell over his eyes and he impatiently snatched it away. "It isn't about what's good for me, Merry! It is what must be done."  
  
"All right!" protested Merry, alarmed. "All right!" He put his hands on Frodo's shoulders. "I don't want to upset you."  
  
Frodo visibly pulled himself together, and allowed Merry to push him back down. "I suppose the healers were right," he said, "to treat me as if I am ill. I can't imagine what you must be thinking of me right now."  
  
"What I think is that I want to be there tomorrow," Merry said, tightly. "I feel as if I'm losing you, we all do, and I'm afraid. Far more afraid of that than any bad memories I might have of the Witch King! I want to understand, Frodo, and this way is the only way I know how."  
  
Frodo took Merry's hand and gripped it tightly. "If that is what you want, then you will be there -- if it is allowed. I do not know what will happen, for tomorrow is the day Aragorn will declare his verdict. Tomorrow is when he will sentence me."  
  
Merry covered Frodo's hand, in turn, with his own. "I will be there."  
  
* * *  
  
The Warden did not permit Frodo to work among the sick the next morning.  
  
"You have been much distraught in mind," he said, during his morning visit. "Come such a time when you have regained some composure, then I will decide anew."  
  
With that, Frodo had to be content. But when it came time for him to be taken to the Citadel, he was surprised to see the Warden return and accompany him. "The King has requested it," the Warden only said.  
  
And so Frodo was brought to the Hall of Kings flanked by the guards, and followed by the soft footfalls of the Healer.  
  
* * *  
  
They were ranged on the steps leading up to the dais: Merry, Sam and Pippin on the right and Gandalf and Faramir to the left. The King was seated.  
  
As the Warden moved to the left, and the guards retreated, Frodo took his place upon the lowest step. Only the briefest of glances betrayed his surprise at seeing all three hobbits there, but Merry caught the uncertainty and moved forward.  
  
"I asked them to come," he said firmly. "We've been with you from the beginning and we intend to be here at the end. Through thick and thin, we told you, and we intend to stay."  
  
Whether or not Frodo accepted this could not be told, for before he could make any kind of reply, the King stood.  
  
"Ring-bearer, you have claimed that you are guilty of failing to destroy the Ring and betraying the free peoples of the West. For three days, you have come before me upholding this claim, and I have listened. I have questioned you and two others on this matter: Lord Faramir and Samwise Gamgee, and I have given this matter great thought. Now on this fourth day, I will pronounce your sentence. Are you ready to receive judgement?"  
  
Frodo took a step forward. He was pale but his voice was firm. "I am ready."  
  
"Then I shall hand down my verdict to you in two parts. For there is more than one issue to be settled and they must be dealt with separately."  
  
Startled, Frodo looked up at Aragorn. "More than one?" he said.  
  
"The first issue, that of your claim, is already known, in full or in part, to all who are here today. The question is whether or not you are to be held accountable for claiming the Ring.  
  
"My answer to you is that you cannot be held accountable for this deed. You are not guilty."  
  
A soft collective sigh was heard then from the three hobbits on the right. Sam had had an air of watchfulness that had promised a change towards wrath if a different verdict had been given, but now he relaxed.  
  
Frodo, however, did not relax, but when he opened his mouth to speak the King raised his hand to silence him.  
  
"You are not guilty for claiming the Ring for you were completely under its power. You spoke of having one last choice to make; however, I do not think that you could have had that choice left to you. As Gandalf himself said, and as you had confirmed in Mordor before you reached Mount Doom, you already could not give up the Ring. What changed at the very Cracks of Doom was the breaking of your will -- completely and finally. You speak of having had a choice. Verily I say to you that you had no choice. You were no longer in control. The Ring would not have allowed you to jump, no matter how deeply you had committed yourself to that fate.  
  
"Nay, you cannot be judged for your deed at the Sammath Naur. I cannot judge you, and you cannot. You must not. I can only judge you for your intentions before you entered that evil place -- before the power of the Ring broke your will. And I say to you that you are not guilty, for it has been made clear, by both your words and the witness of Lord Faramir and Samwise Gamgee, that it was truly your intent to destroy the Ring, even if it meant the sacrificing of your own self. Nay, I see no traitor here. No crime has been committed by you.  
  
"And I say to you, Frodo, that you wrongfully interpret the injury done to your hand. There is no crime of yours branded there. If crime there was, it was Gollum's -- and your hand bears witness. It was his desire for the Ring that made him capable of such an assault against you -- you who had shown him mercy and saved his life more than once. And it was that mercy to Gollum that saved both yourself and the West.  
  
"Consider this: did not your pity of the creature leave him free to seize the Ring and cause its destruction when you were in need of his very intervention? The pity and mercy you showed Gollum was the very blessing that saved you when you were most in need. Accept that deliverance, Frodo, and be grateful for it!"  
  
Aragorn was silent then, and he looked down upon Frodo's upturned face. And it seemed to all present that there was a new understanding that was dawning upon the visage of the Ring-bearer. There was not a complete abandonment of self-blame yet there was hope.  
  
As if satisfied, the King spoke anew. "Nevertheless, there is one more matter to be resolved. And in regarding this I have had great concern.  
  
"You were not able to fulfill the Quest as you had foreseen it. Because of this, you have felt great grief and guilt. Nevertheless, you yourself argued convincingly at our first meeting that you were the best possible choice as Ring-bearer. If you couldn't fulfill the Quest, certainly no one else could have.  
  
"Why then, Ring-bearer, have you felt such guilt that has made you turn away from those around you, and verily from life itself?  
  
"And I say to you, it is because you are guilty of pride. You are guilty of setting yourself up above all others who could not possibly have carried out the Quest. You are presumptuous to have expected to be perfect -- not only in taking the Ring further than anyone else could have done, but in performing that final act of destroying the Ring yourself. Your feelings of grief and guilt are honest, Frodo, but you have some pride which pushes your guilt beyond proper limits."  
  
Once more the King paused, and all who were listening turned their gaze upon the Ring-bearer. Frodo stood there as if transfixed, his eyes widened in shock, his lips parted. But no words came, and the King continued.  
  
"And so I shall sentence you for your pride. First, you will continue to serve at the Houses of Healing by working among the sick under the Warden's supervision. You yourself will stay within those walls until both the Warden and I deem you fit to leave. At that time you may continue or cease your labours there as you so desire. During your stay at the Houses, you will willingly accept any treatment of your hand given by the healers or indeed by any one present here. You must no longer treat it as something shameful, or wrongfully assign to it any evil import.  
  
"Second, you must tell one person, one who doesn't already know the full story, of your deeds during the Quest. Understand this -- you must tell them everything: your choices, your plans, and that which you were guilty of -- your pride. And you must accept their judgement or their forgiveness. But I charge you to make this choice wisely. As you yourself have said, not all may be able to listen without fear or hurt. The one whom you tell may be someone present (for most know only a part of your story!) or the one whom you choose may be elsewhere. But choose well! And make no mistake -- I will ask of you whom you have chosen, and I will verify that your story has been told. Do you understand?"  
  
"I understand," Frodo whispered, and bowed his head.  
  
"And, Frodo, I charge you not only to accept this judgement but to guard against both pride and guilt in the future. I do not mete out punishment only to satisfy your longing for it. Instead I lay upon you the burden of expectation. I expect you to accept your failure to destroy the Ring yourself and I also expect you to recognize that you are indeed fallible: that to cast blame upon yourself for imperfection is an act both of pride and of arrogance. You did far more than anyone else could have done, although it may be difficult for you to see it. Finally, I expect you to humbly accept the gratitude of those you helped save."  
  
Aragorn stood then and walked down to the lowest step. He put his hand upon Frodo's bowed head. "This judgement is finished. Return to the Houses of Healing and reflect on what I have said to you. Spend time with your companions, for you will not start your duties until tomorrow."  
  
Aragorn took his hand from the Ring-bearer's head, and Frodo knelt down and kissed the hand.  
  
"Warden," the King said, "once more I charge you with the care of this perian, Frodo. Will you continue to accept this responsibility, and do you accept the supervision of his labours within the Houses of Healing?"  
  
The Warden came forward. "I will and I do."  
  
And so the Ring-bearer and the Warden were escorted out of the Hall, and the Trial was ended.  
  
.  
  
To be continued 


	13. Healing

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for Tenegold and his captain) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling. I just hope that I may do some justice to this piece. I also hope that readers might want to leave reviews--I can only benefit from constructive criticism from such creative authors as I have seen here.

  


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shirebound: I'm glad that you approached the last chapter with such anticipation, and that I didn't disappoint you!

Ailsa Joy: I'm glad you liked the bit about the veil. I was a little unsure about the wording of it and even thought of taking it out. But I liked it and so kept it in. There is a particular part of this coming chapter you may enjoy, judging from your review...

shireling: I may not be supposed to, but thanks for telling me that I did!

Shire Baggins: What you hope for will not be covered, specifically, but there will be something...

endymion2: Thank you! And I am glad to find that I can be unpredictable...

GamgeeFest: I'm rather fond of that line about Sam myself.

Ariel3: Yes, I have very purposefully tried to weave in Tolkien's intents (not stated in LOTR) while trying to be original and creative in my method. Thank you for noting that. In a way, I have felt (at times) as if I have been writing an essay in narrative form... very enjoyable and challenging at the same time.

ShireElf: Candy works – if it's chocolate!

ClaudiaofBree: I'm glad you tried again! "The Trial of F.B." seems to have been disappearing into a black hole throughout this past week, and some reviews may have been swallowed up as well. This (of yours) was indeed the first and only one I received.

Nivina: I am very fond of that scene between Merry and Frodo. Although the relationship between Frodo and Sam is very compelling and central to LOTR, it is easy to forget that Frodo and Merry have had a very rich, and longer, relationship both as friends and kin.

Mysterious Jedi and Iorhael (and Shire Baggins): Welcome! Thank you for your reviews.

Bookworm2000; Neithel; Boromir; Endymion: Gamgee Fest; and Shire Baggins: It has been intriguing for me to hear responses about whom Frodo will choose to tell his story... May his choice seem right to you.

To all Reviewers: If I haven't responded to your review, it may be that due to difficulties this past week, I never received it. This story has disappeared off and on from ff.net for some odd reason, and so I hope that I haven't missed any reviews.

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Author's Note: _This is the last chapter of this story. However, there will be an Epilogue, and those of you who enjoyed the character of Fellen may be glad to know that he will appear once more._

  
  


Chapter 13: Healing

  


Frodo led Merry to the same place on the wall where Fellen had first talked to him. The Garden of the Houses of Healing was lush and green.

Merry chuckled. "You have quite a love for these walls, cousin. I'm not sure we're ever going to be able to pry you from them when we leave."

Frodo smiled, a little shamefacedly. "They have been a refuge for me when I needed it. Everyone could see me, but..." he trailed off reflectively for a moment. "These walls can be lonely places. I think that everyone knew, somehow, that I wanted to be alone."

Merry looked at him sideways. "Really? Imagine that."

"All right. So it was plain to see."

Frodo climbed onto the wall and, standing, looked out. Merry followed him. "They still offer me refuge," Frodo said, slowly.

"I know," said Merry.

They sat then, facing each other, backs against the blocks of stone jutting up at intervals.

"Do you remember what Aragorn said during the judgement," Frodo asked, "about how I must tell my story to someone?"

Merry nodded. "Oh yes. I have wondered who it was that you chose."

"Actually, I haven't told anyone yet."

"What?" Merry looked at him keenly. "It's been a week now. Won't Aragorn ask...?"

"I've talked to him," Frodo said quickly. "He won't hurry me." His voice lowered a little. "But I have found it hard even thinking of telling anyone my story." He laughed then, a slightly shaky laugh. "I have also found it difficult to choose someone."

"Have you chosen someone now?" Merry asked carefully.

Frodo looked at him. "You told me, once, that you wanted to understand. That you wanted me to talk to you. Is that still true?"

"It is."

"Will you listen to me? Will you hear my story?"

"I will, my cousin."

Frodo looked out over the city. "Do you also remember what Aragorn said: 'Not all may be able to listen without fear or hurt.'" He looked back again. "I don't want to hurt you."

Merry gazed down at the rough stone of the wall. "I suppose that I might be afraid. I know that what you will talk of will be terrible! But as you said before, I want to understand. It is worth the risk, I think."

Frodo took a deep and steadying breath. "Then listen! And I hope that you will forgive me."

And so Merry and Frodo sat long upon the walls while the Ringbearer told his story. And Merry did feel fear, but it did not discourage him from listening, and at the end Frodo was greatly comforted. For Merry forgave him for both his plans and his deeds, and even chided him a little.

"Aragorn was right! You had too much pride, cousin! To think that you could fight that thing to the very end..." And here he could say no more, and Frodo hugged him tightly, for tears were threatening to fall.

  
  


* * *

  


And so after his time with Merry, Frodo went to the King and reported to him the fulfillment of his task and punishment. And the King then went to Merry and indeed verified Frodo's claim.

But before he could do so, the Ring-bearer asked of him a boon. At first the King was loth to answer his request, for he said, "I know this captain of whom you speak. He has been healed once before and yet he slipped back into fevers. I doubt that I could heal him again."

But Frodo pressed him further and said, "You charged me to tell my story to someone who was willing to listen, and I did so. I now feel that if only I could tell my story once more, and the captain were to hear it, he might be helped. For if I could be forgiven for betraying the West through my weakness, then surely he could be forgiven for the death of his men while he bravely fought the enemy!"

And so the King relented, and he and the Ring-bearer went to the Houses of Healing.

Once more did Aragorn call the sick man forth from his evil dreams, and drew him into the land of the living. And when the captain saw King and Perian standing there, he forgot his troubles for a moment and gazed at the visitors in wonder.

"Is the war over, my King?" he asked. His voice was rough.

Aragorn knelt by his side and placed his hand on the man's forehead. "It is over. We are at peace. And I have brought here a messenger of hope for you. Listen to his story, for he has much to tell you - and you may find healing in the hearing of it."

Then, as the ever-faithful Tenegold sat nearby with a look of hope on his face, Frodo humbly told his tale. The Ring-bearer forbore from omitting any detail, even though he suffered from fear of censure from those who listened.

At last he rose, and Tenegold took his hand gratefully. "You have given my captain hope. Look! He stays with us and does not sink back into dreams. If ever I may repay you for your kindness, you need only give word."

But Frodo shook his head. "All I desire is to know if he is indeed healed. I will visit, and I will hope!"

  
  


* * *

  


The last rays of light were extinguished as the sun sank behind Mount Mindolluin, and dusk rose amongst the trees of the garden of the Houses of Healing. But the air was warm and sweet, and the gathering twilight did not trouble the four hobbits sitting or lying about on the grass.

Sam drew a cloak about his master's shoulders. "This should keep the chill off."

"I hardly need it, Sam!" Frodo said, smiling. "But I shall humour you. That's right, isn't it?"

Sam suddenly laughed. "Why, right you are. But you look a sight better than you did last time, if I may say so. And the weather is much better," he added, looking up through the many branches to the deepening of the clear sky.

"I hope we've seen the last of those spring winds," Pippin said. He cupped the bowl of his pipe for a moment, and a sudden glow appeared.

"Good idea," said Merry. He too brought out his pipe. "But do either of you have yours still? I imagine you don't."

"No," said Frodo regretfully, "unless Sam somehow saved his."

Sam shook his head. "Now, why didn't I remember. I knew that I had planned on getting one or two somehow from somewhere in this City, but it slipped my mind."

"They don't smoke here," said Pippin. "A sad thing, but..." and here he brought something out. "I borrowed this back from Gimli for tonight. I thought that you might want to have a smoke, and so asked him for it. I'm sorry I couldn't find another one."

Sam reached for it and handed it to Frodo. Frodo took it, looked at it curiously and felt the wide, flattened bowl. "Thank you, Pippin! But don't worry. Sam and I can share. We're used to sharing things."

Merry passed him the tobacco-pouch and Frodo filled and tamped the bowl. Soon he too took a deep draw, and a smile came to his face. He passed the pipe to Sam. "Cloaks, pipes and pipeweed. I shall be so spoilt, despite Aragorn's best efforts to keep me humble."

Sam made an inarticulate sound. Frodo looked at him.

"You haven't quite forgiven him yet, have you," said Merry with a chuckle. "Fancy the King having the temerity to call Frodo arrogant!"

Sam said nothing, but drew on the pipe. The embers glowed fiercely.

"You disagree with what he said, then?" said Frodo.

Sam dithered for a moment. "Not exactly."

"Accept it, Sam," Frodo said. He put his hand on Sam's knee. "I have."

"Then you don't feel guilty anymore, Frodo?" asked Pippin. He drew up his legs and balanced his chin on his knees. He looked at Frodo curiously, cautiously.

Frodo hesitated. Sam handed the pipe back to him and he took it absentmindedly. "I do," he said at last. "But I try not to let it rule me. And they have kept me so busy this past fortnight that I've had little time to think about it."

"Well," said Merry, and nudged Sam with his elbow, "look who's coming. Don't get angry, or you'll spoil the evening."

"I won't get angry," protested Sam, but he drew closer to Frodo, nonetheless.

The tall figure striding towards them was unmistakable in the dusk and an amused voice spoke. "Gimli told me of a truants' smoking party, and I thought that I might invite myself along. May I join you?"

"Of course!" said Pippin, with a sideways glance at Sam.

Aragorn settled his back against a tree and stretched his long legs out. "I assume that is Longbottom Leaf that you have there?"

"It is, no less," said Merry. Frodo handed him the pouch. "Give me your pipe and I'll fill it up for you."

"There's no need. I can fill it myself. But thank you." 

Task done, he sat there in silence, and savoured the smell of pipeweed that drifted and curled about his head. After a few draws, he spoke. "How are you, Frodo? I haven't seen you for a week."

"I'm better," said Frodo. 

"Considering they're working him as hard as they are," said Sam, and added suddenly "Aragorn. King. _Elessar_..." He floundered and was silent.

Aragorn smiled a little sadly. "The judgement is ended, Sam, and I consider myself first and foremost your friend, if you will have me. I know that I have offended you, but I hope that you may let it pass."

Sam looked down abashedly. 

"And that is the same for all of you. When I am with you, I wish you to call me by whatever name seems most comfortable." And here he turned to Pippin: "but not when you are on duty!"

Pippin's eyes sparkled. "But I am not on duty now, ...._Strider_."

Frodo laughed. "And nor am I. But I find both Aragorn and Strider comfortable to be with."

"And for me," added Merry. "Ah, it has been a long way from Bree. You had better be careful, Strider. We know who you are and where you came from!"

Aragorn smiled, and a glint was in his eye. "And I expect no less."

And the five travellers sat then in companionable silence. Pippin lay down upon the grass while Sam rested his head against Frodo's knee. And the smoke from their glowing pipes rose up and mingled in the leaves above, while twilight gathered, and candles appeared through the windows of the Houses of Healing.

All was restful. All was quiet.

  
  
  


_Epilogue to follow_


	14. Epilogue

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings (except for the five curious children) belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out ideas and concepts already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Author's note: This has been my first attempt at posting fanfiction. I have had this idea for some time but have been dithering over whether or not to try to write a story around it. I love Frodo-centred fiction, especially when it is written with care and feeling, and I just hope that I have done some justice to this piece. 

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GamgeeFest: No, I didn't, actually! But I did want that mood and so wrote that way purposefully. I reread the Grey Havens after I read your review though and realized where (perhaps) my inspiration lay. Thanks!

shirebound: Thanks for your note about "tobacco"! As you already know, I changed one of the instances to "pipeweed" but kept the other in keeping with Tolkien's use of tobacco-jar in The Hobbit. Thanks again! And, yes, it does feel strange - as if I am saying goodbye to a very dear friend. But perhaps soon another one will come along...

lizmybit: You are not the only one to miss a chapter recently. Odd things have been happening to this story during the last few postings. I only hope that this posting goes without incident! And thank you for your kind words.

Ailsa Joy: I too felt like I was sitting with them, as I was writing the scene. I'm glad that it was as vivid for you too.

Ariel3; Silver Flame of a Phoenix; Bookworm2000: Throughout the books, I always felt that, until events brought Sam and Frodo together in great friendship, Merry must have been the closest to Frodo, in friendship, age and temperament. "A Conspiracy Unmasked" is a chapter I am particularly fond of and which shows Merry's regard for Frodo well.

endymion2: He would have been. And too frightened even if he could have understood. And - I was happy to read that you thought it was calm, beautiful and soothing. That was exactly what I was striving for.

ShireElf: Thank you. I enjoyed bringing Strider back after all the stern Aragorn we've had!

shireling: Thank you! And I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long for the Epilogue.

Coriandra: Yes, I thought too that Merry would be able to listen from a perspective that others wouldn't necessarily have had.

helga: Yes, I had read Tolkien's comments, but not until part way through writing this story. But they did help me shape the rest of the story. I do have to tell you, however, that I don't have any plans for a sequel (although I suppose I should never say never). Just this epilogue in this post.

Tangelian Proudfoot: Tack tack! I'm so glad you liked it. And as for Frodo, I have been fascinated with, and cared about his character ever since I first read LOTR when I was 9 years old. And that has never left me. 

Raven Aorla: You're the only one who commented on this! You have great attention to detail. But if you re-read that section, it was actually Merry's guess work only. Sam didn't bother to correct him 1) because Merry hit on the essential truth, and 2) Sam didn't want to volunteer anything more than was strictly necessary out of respect for Frodo. However, it is quite possible that Frodo himself told Merry exactly what happened when he told him the story.

FrodoBaggins87; Mysterious Jedi: Thank you for your reviews, and as for reading more from me, see the comment below...

To all reviewers: I wish to give a heartfelt thank you to everyone who has left reviews and have given me encouragement along the way. And I must say thank you to my proofreaders - my mum, Dan, and Chris - with whom I've had many interesting arguments, err, discussions! And, I do have some story ideas floating about: one of them I plan on mapping out over the next couple of months (and hopefully start posting during the Christmas holidays), and another one I hope to write as a collection of vignettes on a theme – hopefully a little sooner.

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Final Author's Note: During the writing of this story, I have used _The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien _as a guide to Tolkien's feelings on the subject of Frodo's guilt. Aratlithiel kindly pointed out Letters 153, 181 and 191 which helped me clarify my thoughts. Thank you, Aratlithiel! It was very helpful, and I recommend the book to anyone who is interested in this subject. I also include, within the epilogue, a direct quotation from the chapter "Many Partings" in _The Return of the King_. I have set it in italics and cited it.

Carpenter, H. (Ed.) 1995. _The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien_. London: Harper Collins

Tolkien, J.R.R. 1955. _The Return of the King_. London: George Allen & Unwin

  
  
  


Epilogue

  
  


May had nearly drawn to a close when the King Elessar declared the Ring-bearer fit to leave the Houses of Healing. But Frodo begged the Warden to allow him to continue working amongst the sick, for he said: "It gives me both joy to see the sick become healed, and pain to see them suffer. During my own time of healing, it has also reminded me of what I hold dear -- compassion for those in need. For I must look outward to others and not to myself."

The Warden gave him permission, but for mornings only, and he said, "You have worked diligently and with care amongst the sick and have given greatly of yourself. But be sure that your work does not become a means by which you ignore your thoughts and fail to give heed to your own fears or doubts. There is a danger of this, and so I wish you to take time to be with yourself."

Frodo hesitated at this, but then bowed. "I will, and I thank you for your kindness."

But as he turned to leave, the Warden spoke again. "You may be glad to hear that the captain whom you helped heal has returned to duty."

"I am glad," said Frodo. "I knew that he had left the Houses of Healing, but I did not know what befell him after that."

  
  


* * *

  


The Companions dwelt in the White City for two months more, but the time came when Frodo's thoughts turned to Bilbo and the Shire. And he went to the Citadel so that he might beg leave to depart the City. He found the King sitting in the courtyard with the Queen Arwen at his side. And when Frodo had made his plea, Aragorn declared that those who wished to leave could ride with him in the funeral escort for King Theoden which was to depart in seven days.

_ But the Queen Arwen said: 'A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Luthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed. But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven!'_

_ And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo's neck. 'When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you,' she said, 'this will bring you aid.' _(Tolkien 1955 p.252-3)

And Frodo held the gem and looked down at it wonderingly, for it seemed as if some light danced within the jewel. But if he looked too deeply, it was for naught for his eyes could discern neither movement nor source. Yet light there was, and it gave him comfort.

"Thank you, fair Queen," he said but then halted, for words failed him. And Arwen smiled gently for she could see that Frodo was overcome.

And Aragorn said, "You may never fully be able to banish all feelings of guilt, Frodo. But I hope that you have now come to a point where you may accept freely this gift of passage should you ever need it. Guilt is a dangerous thing, Ring-bearer. It can overwhelm you past all reason. You should know this well by now. If such feelings of guilt and grief should return, and I cannot foresee whether or not they will, it is my hope that you should temper them with the wisdom you have gained."

To this, Frodo said nothing but held tightly to the gem. 

"But come," said Aragorn then, and smiled. "I would have you join us tonight, for I wish you to hear one of the wonders of the West."

And so that evening, in the Great Hall of Kings, among many of the folk of Gondor and surrounding lands, Frodo listened and marvelled at the Singers of Lebennin as their clear voices rose to the lofty roof. And during one piercingly sweet descant, Sam stirred beside Frodo and in an awed voice he whispered, "If they just could hear this at home -- but it wouldn't seem right there, anyhow." 

  


* * *

  


It was but a day later, and Frodo was sitting on the wall at his accustomed spot by the garden, when a small high voice breathlessly said, "You're still here!"

Frodo looked down from the wall. "And you're back," he said. Reaching down, he helped pull Fellen up onto the perch.

"I was so afraid that you'd be gone when I returned," the boy said. "It took so long -- we were away so long, and I couldn't tell you we were leaving."

Frodo shook his head. "Pippin told me. Bergil told him about it just before he and his father left." He looked at Fellen cautiously. "I hope that your kin are well."

"Oh," said Fellen, "they are all right. But it took ever such a long time to mend things. Those orcs ruined everything!" But a hint of awe was mixed with his indignation.

"Will they be all right?" asked Frodo with concern. "If everything was ruined--"

"Oh, no! Don't worry about them!" Fellen said. "My father said they will be all right. But," and here he peered at Frodo doubtfully, "must you still stay here at these Houses? Or may you leave yet?"

Frodo smiled. "I may leave and go anywhere in the City. I seem to remember that there was something you wanted to show me."

Fellen jumped down from the wall in glee. "Yes! Oh, I was hoping you'd say that!"

And so Fellen led Frodo through all the secret ways of the City where Men seldom went. And if Fellen was occasionally unsure whether or not the Ring-bearer would approve of such dubious passageways, Frodo took delight in moving noiselessly through the streets, unnoticed by all but the lad who guided him.

Nor, despite Fellen's misgivings, did Frodo have any trouble with the uncertain pathways of the overgrown gardens high above the third level of the City. Sure-footed, he scrambled easily over all the crumbling stone work and up the many narrow steps. And so the two came at last to the thick green curtain of ivy.

Very solemnly, Fellen pulled aside, as best he could, the hanging growth. The sun shone on the revealed carving.

"Oh!" said Frodo, intrigued. He peered more closely through the leaves and flowers. "Who is he?"

"I don't know," said Fellen regretfully. "There is some kind of writing, but I can't read it."

Burrowing a little deeper into the foliage, Frodo carefully lifted aside more of the clinging ivy. "It's in Elvish script," he said at last.

"Can you read it?" Fellen asked hopefully.

Frodo almost disappeared amongst the leaves. "I think so," he said, his voice a little muffled. "The name is larger. I cannot read the rest. It is almost worn away."

"What is the name?" cried Fellen, balancing on his toes. He almost hung from the vines, trying to peer over Frodo's shoulder.

"Tarondor," said Frodo at last. He emerged, somewhat greened and grimed (which Fellen noticed with dismay.) "I can't read anything else. Not, at least, without all this covering removed -- which would be a bit of a shame," he added reflectively.

"Tarondor," whispered Fellen. "Who was he? He wasn't a Steward. I know all the names of the Stewards."

"I think," said Frodo slowly, "that he was a King long before the Stewards." When Fellen looked at him impressed, Frodo shook his head. "I don't know much about the Kings of Gondor," ("Except for the one we have now!" interjected Fellen proudly.) "but I do remember this name."

They sat down then on the broken flags of stone warm from the sun. Frodo spoke again. "In the Houses of Healing, they told me about his uncle, the King Telemnar. There was a terrible plague in the City, and the King and his family all died. The Houses were overrun with the sick and the dying. Tarondor, the nephew, was the next in line, and he had to rule the weakened land."

"Oh!" said Fellen. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know," said Frodo. "The healers were telling me about the plague, not about the Kings."

"Oh," said Fellen, crestfallen. "I want to know more about him! Do you think that you could ask them about him?"

"I could," said Frodo doubtfully. "But I must tell you, Fellen, I will be leaving soon. I am going back home."

Fellen gazed at Frodo mournfully. "I thought you might be. Before today, I thought you already had." He was silent for a moment, and he dug at the weeds in the cracks with his foot. "I was hoping we could find more of the carvings."

Frodo looked at Fellen and felt great fondness for the lad. "Then perhaps we might try another day this week. And then, perhaps, you could continue after I'm gone. I am sure there must be many wonderful things to discover that all others have forgotten."

"I could learn to read the Elvish script," said Fellen thoughtfully.

"And you could ask your father, and ask him of others who could tell you more. You could learn many things that you could, one day, teach to others."

A light came to Fellen's eyes. "I would like that," he said wistfully. "And I would think of you each time I found something."

* * *

  


"There they are! Look, up on the third wall!"

"Under the fourth wall, it looks like," Telgan said. He nudged Manrim aside.

"Hey, lads," protested Sam from where he was sitting. "There's room for all of you. No need to push each other."

"Who are you talking about," asked Pippin curiously. He was chewing the end of a long piece of grass, his arms behind his head.

"It's Fellen," said Felnor. "My younger brother."

"And the Ring-bearer!" said Manrim enviously. He got to his feet. "I know the area where they are... I think. Let's go after them."

"Woah," said Merry, and he shot out an arm to grip Manrim by the collar. "Leave them alone, lad. Frodo's better with only one other. He wouldn't be keen on you lot swarming all over him."

"We wouldn't swarm," said Manrim, but Felnor reached up and pulled him down. "All right. I won't go." He settled back down, looked sideways at Pippin, and plucked a long blade of grass. He chewed the end studiously.

The heat of the mid afternoon settled over the group, and the singing of the insects about them grew ever louder.

And far above them, at the base of the fourth wall, two small figures sat together in companionship.

  
  


_The End_


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